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women's congress 



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POKMS. 



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/ 

MARTIN HEATHCOTE 



SEP 29 1884y 



nAI/riMOUE, IMD. : 

FlBlisiiki) by the Baltimore ruBUSiiixc co. 

(k'vcfeKKOrn to John B. Viet <(• Vo.) 
No. 171 West Hai.timokk Stuket. 

1884. 






1 ntoroil noeor.linp to Act of Congi-ess, in the year 1884, by 

JlAli TIN HE A TIWOTK, 

in tlic offloe of the liibrarian of Congress, at "Washington. 



It is Willi some (lilTidoiu-o lliut tlu' luitlidr oilers ihU volume 
oE poems to the ]iul>lic. He is aware that some of the pieces 
do not; come up to the poetical standard. They arc somewhat 
I'aidty, both in rhythm and in sentiment. At the time when 
they were wrilteu there was no intention of ever sulnnitting 
them to the i)ress. A number of them were written lor 
friends, without nuicli thought or consideration ; and it is at 
the re([uest of friends and acipiaintances that he has at last 
decided to j)ublish them. Some of his effusions, however, 
liave from time to time appeared in newspapers, but the most 
of them are now given to the imblic for the first tim^. 

"The Women's Congress," the longest piece in the book, 
was written but a few months before the ])ublicatioa oi this 
volume ; eonsetiuently it has not had that careful revision 
that any poem, l>eforc publication, should liave. Concerning 
this poem, opinions may vary. In it may be found expres- 
sions, which by some (who, jjcrhaps, arc over-fastidious) may 
bo considered inelegant phrases; but it is hoped that a small 
•amount of humor, if not instruction, may be found in it, by 
,thoso who are willing to give .it a careful iicrusal. Some of 
the expressions may appear too strong; yet, when it is con- 
sidered tliat they were put forth by persons to those of their 
own sex, with wliom tliey were intimately acquainted, and on 
subjects uppermost in their minds, it may be ([uestioaed if 
.their language would not have })een much stronger than that. 
.hero attributed to them. 

(Ill) 



IV PREFACE. 

The smaller pieces, indeed, all the pieces, were written in 
the midst of other cares and employments, principally on 
subjects and events that were transpiring at the time. It is 
needless to enter into a detailed description of them here. 
The perusal of them is the best way to judge of their merits 
or demerits. 

The author's object has not been to transport his readeis 
into an ideal world, far above the scenes and surroundings 
in which we find ourselves, but to depict things as they 
appear to ordinary minds. lie is not one of that class of 
persons wlio look only on the dark side of life, and who are 
continually wailing and mourning about things over which 
they have no control ; but believes in ever looking on the 
■"bright side of a picture," and making the best of everything. 

True, at times he is thoughtful, sorrowful, and even 
dejected, as some of his poems show, but always endeavors 
to shake off "Dull Care" at the earliest opportunity, and to 
look forward to the future with confidence and hope. 

With these few remarks he is willing to let his writings go 
forth, to be approved or condemned, as may suit the feelings, 
wishes, or inclinations of the public. 

Freelaxds, Baltimore County, Md., 
August, 1884. 



C03iTTEn^TTS. 

PAGE. 

More Poetry Coniing, ....... 9 

Reflections on Brandywine Battlefield, - - - - 11 

The Song of the Emigrant, 13 

The Woni mi's Congress, 13 

The Tournament, - 121 

To an Intimate Female Acquaintance, - - . . 126 

Retreat from Care, - - 137 

To Banerolt's Weavers. ------- 129 

To a Co juette, 130 

]5ianily\vine, ---- 131 

Summer Evening Musings, - 133 

Banks of Codorus, -------- 140 

Old Fritz, 141 

To Rev. J. A. Ramsay, No. 1, 153 

Xiines Addressed to The Authoi', . . - - 154 

To Rev. J. A. Ramsay, No. 2, 158 

To Rev. J. A. Ramsay, No. 3, 160 

The Two Little Dogs, Brandy and Frisk, - - - 164 

Brandy's Lamentations on tlie Death of Frisk, - - 169 

Rejoicings on the Return of Spring, - - - - 170 

On the Indians, - -- 171 

I'll J5uy a Farm, ----- .-. 170 

To J. S. Ro!)inson. - 178 

A.ddress to Fairmount, - - 179 

.Grief, 181 

•On Old Bill, 183 

The Corn-llusking Party, 183 

Two Lovers, -- 187 

■Old Barlow, ------_. «i 95 

(V) 



VI CO:STENTS. 

PAGE. 

The Death of My Sweet Kitty, 198 

The Fisliing Party, 200 

Th3 Fashionable Wedding, 203 

M R 's Address to His Native Land. . - 211 

A Reverie, 214 

Going to Camp, __--_-_- 215 

Musings in a Village Graveyard, _ . _ . - 218 

To Charley, My Good Old Horse, . . - - 220 

Elegy on the Death of Old Charley, - - - - 221 

Old Mack, the Miller, 222 

Written in a Lady's Ilynin-Book, ----- 226 

The Czar and the Turk, 227 

The Whip-poor-Will, 235 

In a Drought. 236 

The Missionary's Appeal to tlie Indian, - - - - 237 

The Indian's Appeal, 237 

A Comparison Between Ancients and Moderns, - - 238 

On a Passionate Woman, ------ 240 

On a Tattling, Mischief-Making Woman, - - - 241 

On America, or the United States, - - - - 243 

To John S. Robinson, ------- 244 

To Mr. , 248 

The Poor, Half-Famislied Quail, - .... 249 

The Aged Turtle, 250 

Suggested on Viewing Fishing- Creek Valley. - - - 259 

You're Getting Bald and Gray, Man, - - - - 260 

More Snow, More Snow, ------- 261 

Written on a Cold, Winter Night, - - - - 263 

To a Young Miss, 264 

The School-IMaster's Stool, 265 

A Hot Day in Harvest-Time, 270 

The Land of My Childliood, 272 



CONTENTS. VII 

PAGE. 

The Biittlo of Gettysburg, 273 

The Gettysburg Battlefield, 274 

Beneath an Oak, 275 

Mrs. Curses the Fleas, 270 

Mary's Disiijipointed Hopes, --»._- 279 

Miss Rejoicing Over Her Single Blessedness, - 280 

Home, Sweet Home, ___._-_ 282 

The Tide of Emigration, 283 

•On Two Fine Horses, "Jim and Dandy," - . _ 285 

Lord 's Farm, 287 

Memories of the Heart, --_-.-_ 288 

Social Love, 289 

The Lonely Lover, . - - 290 

On Woman's Fascinating Powers, . _ . _ 391 

What I'd Do When I Became a Man, - - - - 291 

I'm Getting Tired of Poetry, 292 

Soldier Johnny's Farewell to His Mary, - - - - 293 

The Ways of Mankind, 295 

The Cricket, 296 

The Rose, 298 

The Homeward Journey, ------- 298 

The Mother and Her Sailor Son, - - . . 299 

Written When on a Visit to Painter's Bridge, - - 301 

On a Huge Heap of Rocks, ------ 302 

The Bird's Nest, 303 

On Seeing a Hungry Mouse, ----- 304 

Surveying on Timber Branch, ------ 304 

Meditations, --------- 305 

Tlie Soldier and His Lady, 307 

To Lewis Lees in England, 309 

A Dream, 313 

The Courtship, 314 



Tin CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

'The Gypsey Fortune-Teller, --_.._ 316 

Miss Mary and Her Beaux, - 317 

The Gypseys Are Coming, 319 

Jesse and Nancy, 320 

My Grandmother's Days, 333 

The Song of the Little Bird, Whittle-Dick, - - 324 

Tom Daiighei-ty, • . - 335 

The Hen and Her Brood of Ducks, - - . . 420 

The Last Days of Summer, 338 

The Butterfly, 339 

The Greatness of America, 33I 

The Poor Indian, 334 

To Mr. Philo, 335 

Elegy on Poor Little C.-esar, 336 

On Poor Bush, 338 

The Laborer, the Farmer and the Merchant, - - 339 

lleflections on the Above, --.... 344 

Aia, 345 

Beautiful Frances, -----___ 34(5 

Where is Buzzard's Glory? 349 

A Reckless Youth, ----_.._ 350 

An Old Maid's Soliloquy, 351 

Advice to J. S. R., - - - _ . . _ 353 

]New Market, - 354 

The Tailor and His Spouse, --,..- 355 

The Dying Maiden, 357 

Wishing for a Quiet Retreat, 358 

Come Back, Ye Happy Days, - - - - - 359 

<^n Life, 359 

On Death, ------_„„ 3g0 



MORE POETRY COMING. 



^^^ORE poetry coming — more poetry coming, 
^^^ Hand in your bids and be smart; 
''It Is fen dollars bid — is Jive dollars bid — 
Is one dollar bid for a start? 

It seems to be naught but a worthless old drug, 

dear ! and cannot I give it ? — 
Well, no wonder that nobody wants it; — 

To tell you the truth, I would'nt have it. 

What Avonder our poets should torture their brains. 

To make such invaluable stuff; 
For years they've been at it, yes, cent'ries even. 

Not knowing the world has enough. 

They are writing the same thing over and over, — 

Love, romance, and ev'ry vain notion : 
They're like those vain dreamers who lose all their wits, 

In seeking perpetual motion. 

I, too, a vain dreamer have been, I admit. 

What a fool I have been in the past! 
I never could have believ'd it before, 

lUit the proof is convincing at last. 

So, now my young lady and gentlemen poets, 

1 tell you what soon you must know ; 
When you get to be forty or fifty years old. 

You'll find what I tell you is so. 

(9> 



10 MDIIK I'vJK'l'KY COM 1 NO. 

]\Iy wilV ofli'M (I'lls iiu', jiiiil sure 'tis llio triitli, 

'riiJit I uiii 11 silly ohl <^0()si\ 
For wasliiiij: my liiiu' ;uul my I:iKmi(s l\)r naught. 

On what, is, in tnitli, of no mso. 

"0 yos," will she suy, "you silly olil dotainl, 

\'ou"ro liko an old rickety gate; 
You'll soon bo too old and too crazy to write; 

A'ou're toothless, and bahl is yonrpate." 

}^o i;ive us no more of this frivolous folly — 
Of all the poor trades, 'tis the poorest; 

l?etter butt your old head against a stone lonce, 
Vov that, would be sai\'st and surest. 

I've seen silly poets who'd stay up at night. 

Huruing oaniUes until they got drowsy; 
I've siH'u them again at Poverty's door, 

Mmaciale. ragged, and lousy. 

Then wlui'd be a }>oet — a senseless old poet ? — 
You'd better break stone on the pike, 

Or go through the streets, the alleys, and lanes, 
Singing, "old rags," "old bones," and the like. 

i) my! what a wonderful world do we live in ! 

I low tickle the freaks of the Fates! 
While some, high at\il dry, in luxury lly, 

Others are grovelling and raoking their jiates. 

To hum, or to drum, to chirp or to sing, 
8ome llimsy, degraded, oldtlitty: — 

Wilt thou not, poor old dotard, give it up? 
Not yet — dost thou say? C> dear! what a pity. 



RKFLKCTIONS ON HRANDYWINK !'.ATTI,HK1KM). 



HlpKlIK day is dcrliriiti;];, tlu; Him, nv(;rciiH(, 
wsw IV'Meiilli llio horizon liiiH huhI< ; 
II 'I'lio toils of the day at Icii^tli aro all past. 
And th»; fowls to thoir ioohLs havo bIiiiiU. 
I't'lisivi', 1 wander, to inhale tin; hrcczc, 

liy IJrandywino's clear, ripidin/^ stream; 
The wind is whistling throu[^h the verdant tret'H, 
And on tiw! waves the lij/htnin/^s f^'hiani. 

iiike 0(Oin-waves, with iinahiite<l force. 

The clouds o'crhcad do rnsh and hreali. 
And meeting others in their onward conrj^c;, 

An alarming concussion they make. 
The vivid flash, the thunder's roaring sound, 

llcminds me of that fatiil day, 
In times of yore, when on this v<ry ground, 

Two armies met, in hiiglit array. 

What thoughts revolve within lliis hrain ol' mine, 

When ruminating on this theme I 
Ye men and brethren when will you dcjcline, 

Or shun war's dreadful, bloody stream? 
lint oh ! men will not hear, nor yet obey 

The voice of Keason, and of Hente; 
One will oppress, another will not pay. 

And strife is oft the conseciuence. 



THE SOKG OF THE EMIGRANT. (1857). 



HP OME all who are determined, 
t^^ To venture and to win ; 
II Come all who wish to emigrate, 

Who'd wade through thick and thin. 
To Kansas we will go, we'll go. 

To Kansas we will go, 
We'll wade through thick and thin, my boys. 
To Kansas we will go. 

who would linger here and drudge, 

Like slave and waste his prime? 
When fortunes are profusely strewn. 

In ev'ry Western clime. 
To Kansas we will go, we'll go, 

To Kansas we will go. 
We'll i^ick up fortunes on the plains, 

To Kansas we will go. 

who can prosper here, where lands 

Are poor and held so high ? 
The grasshopper e'en mourns his fate, 

With teardrops in his eye. 
To Kansas we will go, we'll go. 

To Kansas we will go, 
^0 pick your flints, let us be off, 

To Kansas we will go. 

(12) 



THE 



WOMEN'S CONGRESS; 

Or, Old Maids and Bachelors. 



OjLl) (norge iiud John, two brothers true, 
; Had always lived together; 
IJ'^ Through thick and thin, in calm or storm, 
In any sort of weathei-, 
Whatever circumstance occnrr'd, 
They still helped one another. 

2. Day after day they toil'd and sweat, 

From April till October; 
When winter came they stow'd away 

Like ground liogs, said old Dober; 
Like Darby and Joan, if one was drunk, 

The other was not sober. 

3. They had a hoard of dollars hid. 

And sparingly tljey spent them; 
They never murmured at bad crops, 

But took what God had sent them ; 
And they liad neither wife nor child. 

To harass or torment them. 

2 (Ki) 



14 THE WOMEiV's CONGRESS; OR, 

4. 'J hey own'd a fiirm — they planted corn, 

And well they plough'd and hoed it; 
And -when their grass got ripe enough, 

They took their scythes and mowed it ; 
And in the lall they plough'd a field, 

In wheat or rye they sow'd it. 

5. One did the cooking, then the otli3r, 

For both knew all about it, 
Good housekeepers indeed they weri.% 

And not a soul could doubt it, 
But as to scrubbing floors and doors. 

They got along without it. 

G. What was the use in scrubbing floors, 
AVindows, walls and sashes? 
What was the odds if walls were smok'd. 

And floors as black as ashes ; 
When all this labor could be s.iv'd. 
By just a few bold dashes? 

7. They clean'd their house in winter time. 

When all outside was freezing; 
Cobwebs came down, and dust went up. 

Which kept the brothers sneezing; 
The way they shovel'd out the dirt, 

AVas wonderful and pleasing. 

8. They fed their horses and their cows; 

Their hogs were not neglected ; 
Their sheep were snugly hous'd at night. 

From ravenous dogs protected ; 
And ev'rything went well with them. 

Much better than expected. 



OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 15 

11. Their stock increas'd from year to year, 

Prosperity was flowing 
In constant streams — their mares had colts, 

Tiieir cows with calves came lowing, 
Their sheep came home with lambs a bleating. 

And fast the wool was growing. 

10. Thus, they liv'd on from year to year, 

Two independent mortals; 
If not quite happy, yet they w^ie 

As sedate as two turtles ; 
No creature of the womankind. 

Scarce ever cross'd their portals. 

11. Though there were many ladies round, 

As lively as a chicken ; 
Not all their charms and blandishments 

Could (ieorge's passion quicken ; 
Nor liad John ever dream'd, that he 

Could ever be love-stricken. 

12. They diflf.n'd from most other men, 

In this peculiarity. 
From wo i ankind they kept aloof; 

To see them was a i*arity. 
'^[ongst females they became the theme. 

Of mirth and jocularity. 

13. Now they were far advanc'd in years, 

For both were over fifty; 
Yet they were stout and hearty still, 

Industrious and tlirifty; 
But why not get a housekeeper, 

Economical and shifty. 



1(3 TiiH womkn's coxgukss; ok, 

1 1. \'o5, that's tlio point we're coming to, 
Why iloiil they, that's the (luostion. 

The women ask'd this question oft, 
And gave tliis Avise suggestion, — 

That any man when rich enongh. 
Should niarrv like a '"hristian, 

!."». Old maids and widows i^Uimi) and iiale, 

Secm'd greatly interested. 
Ami o'er their tea held many a talk. 

Disputed, laugh'il, and jested ; 
l''or these two rich old bachelors, 

What love they nutnifosted ! 

hi. Molly and Hetty, and Dolly ami Sue, 

These four were still unmarried ; 
Although they'd tried their arts for year?, 

Vet all their plans miscarried ; 
They'd aimed their spears at John and (jlcorge, 

r>ut all their thrusts were parried. 

17. (leorgo shook his head — to John he said, 
'•These women beat the witches; 
Dear birds they are, you may be sure, 

They run away with riches ; 
A man may slave from dawn till dark, 
To buy false teeth and switches." 

John. 
IS. "Yes, Ueorge, you're right — what fools mon are, 
To jump right into trouble; 
For when one's married to a wife 
His cares come on him double; 
Though for some time they move along, 
They soon begin to dribble. 



Ill II MAIDS AND HACll IOI,()i;S. l7 

111. " Now, Mu'i'f'H oiii' Tom, |)oi)r silly in;iii, 

II(' Ii'I'IuikI wi'iil lo Dovci-; 
Mud li(« hill. .sliiyM id lioiiic wil.li ns, 

lie iiiiu;lit. liavi' livM in c^lovor; 
r>iit liki' soiiit' muro iu' <^oL ;i wilo, 

Ami tlii'ii liis IVcjiks wciH* oviM'. 

'iO. "Ami nil thai. Mionoy now in j^onc, 

Which he kepi in u pilchcr; 
Ami iiDW his wife rcproaiHirs him, 

iIoi;aii;Hi he is not richer ; 
Early and late he lahors haril. 

As hanl as any »lil(^h(>r. 

yi. "She says 'lis his had nianaL';t'm('nl, 

Maki'S thoni so poor ami needy ; 
I'll il. he's so slow in all his aets, 

Slio never saw him speedy; 
He'd dull of mind, always behind, 

And more than that, he's greedy. 

22. '■ 11" she hilt had the iiinnat/ciiK'tU ! 

(She thinks she's such a honey) — 
'I'he fact is that she iii(tii(t</cs 

To Mpiander all his money. 
And can a hirtl without win,<j;s lly? 

Ij;iw! Wouldn't that he funny. 

23. " She says lu''a not like you or me, 

He's not like either brother; 
She says he's dumb and doesn't know 

One dollar from another. 
Now that's a lie, for he was smart, 

When lu re at home with mother. 



IS TiiK avomkn's oonukess; ok, 

■J I. '• If ir.othor only wore alivo! 
li sho oould only hoar hor 
Alniso poor Tom — thoroM bo a row. 

As sure as sho oamo near hor : 
ril hot thoroM bo soino hair to pull, — 
That o;ip would hardly oloar hor.'' 

"ib. '• Yos. yos. poor 'I'oni has i:;ot it hard — 

I pity huu sinoorolv ; 
I'm suro ho ruos tho day ho wod, 

I'm suro lio ruos it dourly: 
Tliat wit'o of his — uut'ooliuij wrotoh — 

Abusos him sovorolv. 

vi'. 'v'^'vi' uood not talk ot" iiitniitfeme)^, 
Aud bristle up with cholor ; 
Sho nood not say tb.at Tom is dttU, 

And oannot ooiiiit a dollar. 
Tom nsod to bo a smart youui; man. 
And somothiui:: of a soholar. 

V 7. *•>'";(' oould havo i^ot a !>cite-r man : 
Rich turn had inado advanoo^, 
Uut (ov poor Ton — i^oov plod ih'ni} Tom- 

8ho gave up all hor ehanoos I 
I novor road tho liko bol'oro. 
In noYols or romaneos. 

"OS. " What had .s7^'?' Not ovon a Vi/, 

Nor plate to put a pio on ; 
A poor, low and lonoly maidon, 

That no ono had an oyo on: 
Ihm was ton timos too good for Ac'r, 

This faot she can rolv on. 



OM) MAIDS AM) HACIIKLORS. Ill 

39. "How vuiii, liovv silly is iiertiilkl 
"I'would sicken one to hear her; 
No wonder Tom is end and mute, 

Whenever he is near lier; 
Iler twaddle sickens liim, I'm sure, 
lie cannot lovc^ or fear her. 

30. '' Tom was no lunatic or fool, 

Ero he wed that wife so (litinfi/ : 
He was respected for i^ood sense, 

And he had money plenty; 
And lie had female friends enongh, 

I could count you over twenty. 

31. " Xot good enongh ! Not rich enough ! 

How silly — how conceited ! 
7'()i)i w'iia the loser — and not ttlie, 

lie is the one was cheated. 
^\'hat did he get ? A loifc, that's all. 

His ruin was completed. 

32. " She thinks she is a diaiiiond, 

One of the purest w'ater ; 
lUit who was she, or what was she 'i 

She was old lUimper's daughter ; 
Brought up in poverty and rags. 

And no good sense was taught her. 

33. " l\re she in malice and revenge, 

AVould cast her vile rellections, 
Lot her look luck upon the past, 

Her parents and connections; 
Let her but read her pedigree, 

And raise no more objections. 



20 'iiiK nvomkn's coNiiUK^s; oil, 

;>l. ' 1 ooiiKl lu'lp Tom in luany ways, 

1 1" .) in wore not so crazy ; 
I'll givo liini that young .lorsoy cow, 

'rimt's jn-otty as iv daisy; 
Unt Jin wouUl ncithor too il nor milk hor. 

Sho's so oonl'onmlod lazy." 



or>. Thus (ioorgo and John woro Hinging dirt. 
At Tommy's wifo, poor .lounio! 

And sho wouUl lling it back again, 
'['hough soarooly worth a ponny, 

I'oor as sho was sho oonhl not stand it, 
Slio was vi[>orisli as any. 

'M>. Voov donnio lioard all that was said. 

And nioro was addod to it ; 
i-'ow words thoy said, few aots thoydid. 

Hut presently she knew- it ; 
And sho doolar'd she'd pay thom back, 

Whonevor sho eould do it, 

oT. Molly, and Hot, and l>olI, and :Sno, 

Pass'd by tho I'arm and through it; 

And thoy wove arrant gossips all, 
PoYoting thoir time to it ; 

It seoju'd they'd notliing more to do, 
Ov else thoy did not do it. 

oS. '.I'hoy often mot at Tommy's house. 

To talk thoir matters over, 
Compare their notes, exchange their news. 

Or comment on Sail's lover ; 
" lie was a simpleton," thoy said, 

*' Yet ho was far above hor." 



OLD MAIDS AND I! A ('II lll.OltS. ^l 

:J9. " I've lioiird," says Doll, ''Miid 'Lis :i Hict, — 

Alretuly they're engiigetl ; " 
"Wliiit does lie wuiifc with her'' ask'd Sue, 

" So ugly, poor ;ind uged ? " 
*' Why, he's too young to hiivc good sense," 

Says I'x'ily much ciinigi'd. 

40. " () dear, O dear," Miss iMolly said, 

With eyes and mouth distorted ; 
"Two crazy, crack-brain'd fools like them 

About to be consorted ! 
Another pauper family, 

Ere long to be supported ! "' 

41. " Yes, yes," says 'roinniy's wife — "poor Sam — 

I |)ity him most siuvly ; 
lie iloes not know what a prude she is. 

Ah ! she can speak demurely ; 
She's given him low drops 1 believe, 

And he is llxed securely. 

4'i. "lie us'd to be a mopish cha}), 

Hut now he seems so zealous; 
Hut (), some d;iy his pride will fall, 

l'\)r who on earth can tell us 
How many other love affairs 

She's had with different fellows V " 

43. Next, other topics were discuss'd. 

Without deliberation; 
]5ut they agreed and urgetl the need, 

Of wiser h'i:'Jslation ; 
And more might be expected of 

The rulers of the natio.i. 



2,3 riiF womfn's oonuhess; ou, 

MoUij. 
\\. "Thoso gontloiiuMi at "\Va!?hiii_i:;ton 
l>o littlo tor sooiotv ; 
'Vhc bills thov pass, the tiino thov wa^to, 

Aoi'oiil not witl\ sobriot Y ; 
Tlioiv rovolrv aiul ^lutionv 
WouKl oviMi s^luH'k propriety. 

■tr*. " ^Vbo oannot i^oo thoir objoot is 
Tlioir own base sollish passions V 

'l\> got tlio monov, drink and snioko. 
At loi;islativo sessions? 

Whon woniou ask tor thoir jnst rights, 
'I'hoy talk oi' prido and fashions. 

4r.. "Tho women onght to havo t\\: rnlo, 

Wlio'ro tit tor logislation; 
'Tho /;/(// havo bliindor'd long onongb, 

At\d tii\kor'd at tbo nation; 
Tho ii\'intu utr and not tho nwHy 

Tho lords of tho oroation. 

•17. " Womon aro and always wore 
Movv^ aotivo and sagaoions ; 
Mcn\'i i)iin<t< aro shallow as a plato. 

And in fucn'a aro oapaeions : — 
Mt^tt aot not withont stiinulns. 
And thon they aro lov]naoions. 

4S. ''ir 1 had powi r I'd niako a law, 
To pension poor lono wonim ; 

For instance snob as havo no men. 
And tlioso aro not nnooninion; 

Thoy'io treated >Y it h inditVoronoo, 
As thongh thov were not hnnian. 



oil) MAID.-l AND IIACIII'LOUS. 23 

I'.l. " I'd iiiiil<(! :i l:i\v to tux lliosc incii 

Wlio'rc! i-icli iuid will not iii;irry; 
I'd lay it on Mkmii thick iiiid heavy, 

Ah much as they couhl carry, 
If they persisted stubbornly, 

In hachelorrfliip to tarry. 

r)(). " I'\)r iii.staiice, Kiicli an (ieori^cs and .John, 
Who thus far have resisted 
All Cupid's wiles and Venus' smiles, 

To h(! in wedlock listed: — 
'I'hey could ad'ord to keep Icti wives, 
]{iit they are too close-fisted. 

;")!. " The crusty, fusty bachelors — 

Thoiii;h ask'd they ne'er consentetl ; 

Tluiy could have married lon^ ii;,'o ; 
They surely are demented. 

J low can they live without a wife, 
How can they \w contenteil? 

r)2. "They're in the slou^di of i^rini despair, 

And still arc sinkini; deeper; 
They do not want a wife, they say. 

Nor even a housekeeper. 
Without a wife, or woman help, 

They think they (!an live cheaper. 

f);}. " Tlie liible says a man hliall have 
One wile to love and cherish ; 
And he that disobeys (Jod's laws 

Mternally shall perish : 
So there is no eternal hope, 
Though in this world they llourish." 



24 THE women's cokgress; or, 

54. George thought lu^ could have answered them, 

If he had only heard them ; 
He could have quoted Scripture, tco, 

He could to Paul referr'd them ; 
He could have beat them out and out, 

From more attacks deterr'd them. 

55. When told about their vile attacks. 

He laugh'dand shrugg'd his shoulders; 
" Such creatures were not worth a tliought, 

TJiey were but common scolders ; 
They were the jest and laughing stock 

Of hearers and beholders. 

56. " They Avere a jolly team," he said, 

" But they wouldn't pull together; 
They zig-zagg'd and they see-saw'd. 

They bit and kicked each other ; 
They were not worth their provender, 

Nor e'en their harness leather. 

57. " Who'd want a woman of that stripe, 

To live in purgatory ? 
He could not live in peace with her. 

E'en on the upper story: 
Hang all such scalawags, I say. 

And let them go to glory." 

George. 

58. George went to tell the news to John, 

AVho in the woods was hewing; 
" I told you, John, I thought there was 

Some devilment a brewing; 
That female team is down at Tom's, 

And what think you they're doing? 



OLD MATDS AND BACHELORS. 25 

59. " They have a women's congress there, 

Are plans and schemes contriving; 
They've lots of business on their hands, 

With whip and spur tliey're driving; 
They're passing laws — oVr head and ears, 

In finances they're diving. 

60. " Old bachelors like you and me, 

Are under high taxation ; 
There's no appeal, there's no redress, 

No reconsideration ; 
And crazy rattle-brain'd old maids. 

To be pension'd by the nation. 

61. " What do you think of such a law ? 

jHiat looks like business — dorCt it? 
'Twill make a ranting, roaring stir. 

Among old maidens — won't it? 
'Twill lift them up high as the moon. 

And many a league 'beyont' it." 

JoJui. 
02. "If they want men so badly, George, 
Why don't they go and get them ? 
If foxes can be caught in snares. 

Why don't they go and set them? 
I think they must be run ashore. 
Or that old Satan's met them. 

G3. " But all the laws that they can pass, 
I do not care a fig for ; 
Believe me, George, the best of them 

I would not give a pig for; 
And all the pensions they will get. 
They'll have to go and dig for. 

3 



X'O I UK nvomknV roNi;ui-ss; ou, 

lU. ••C\n)>;iiss indivd— tho hin;itio3 — 
What era/.y lit has soizoil thorn? 
Is tho luoon at full — in* are tliov drunk. 

^Vh:^t tritlo has dispU\is\l thoni? 
'I'hov'iv wovjio than oatorNvauliui;- oats. 
Porhaps sotno \vaij lias toasM thoni. 

65. " O doar '. doar ! tho sky is oloar. 
And do 1 hoar tho tliundor: 
A «*()m«'»V (Vm/r«'><>\N' in Tours oabini 

Tho >Yorld is full of wondor I 
llavo 1 hoard you rio;htlY, (>oorgo. 
Or havo I niavlo a bluiulor? 

OO. '• * Tis Tom's moat tub thoy aro after, George, 
That causes this uivat splutter ; 
As hungry ohiekons at the call, 

Come ruujiiuii' in a tluttor: 
And Tom's wife's green enough to give 
Ihr ohildron's bread and butter. 

07. "She'd out hor throat or break her neck, 

Tnn\bling over tho benches ; 
ShoM pawn hor ;?tove, and looking-glass. 

'I'o IVod those hu-.y wenches; 
She'd bog or borrow, cheat or steal. 

To till thoir empty paunches. 

(58. "She'd starve hor children, and poor Tom. 
To food tha^o worthless cattle ; 
And !i:iH>nd her precious time beside. 

To hear thoir senseless prattle. 
If I'd a wife that would do that, 
Tm sure thore'd be a battle. 



oil) MAIDS AND ItACIIKl.OKS. 27 

0'.>. "81ie innst liiivi' jam, utid j^'lly (Mkes, 

('amlietl fruit, iiml poiiclica ; 
The best is lu'vcr ^ooil onoiii^li, 

To stiiirtlioso luiMf^ry looches. 
'Twoulcl bo I'iir wiser if she would 

(io patch luT chihlron's hrwches. 

70. "Tlioy'iv oft at. Toin't!, tlu' whoK' ship's crew, 

lioaling, oatiiii; aiul driiikiiii^ ; 
\\ lull 1 CTQ to the spring to drink, 

'riu'v'io bockoning and winking. 
1 tell you, (ioorgo, it makos nio mad — 

]VJo woiulor Tom is t-iiikiiig, 

7J. "Th(>y'll eat him out of house and home, 

As sure as his name's Tommy; 
I woiuk'r that he harbors them, 

To be called a simple dummy. 
I'd pull the house down, so I would, 

Before they shouUl o'ercome me. 

72. " We see where is the miniKjoiieiil — 
Why 'i'om is not more wealthy; 
'Tis her fault, so it is — not his — 

She's wasteful and she's stealthy. 
Half-fed, half-clothed, hard-work'd and poor, 
How can the man be healthvl" 



7;?. As .lohn had said, they had a feast, 
^Vllich they ileclar'd was glorious; 

And still their tongues went rattling on. 
In Bedlam style, uprt)arious ; 

CVer fear and want they thought they were 
Triumphant and victoriou--'. 



38 I'liH womkn's coNcins^; ou. 

71. The tliouglits of juMisions liUM their hejuls, — 

Witl\ those they wore ehiteil ; 
Tliey womler'd what Une things they'd buy, 

And long they cogitated ; 
Cats, and carpets, and iUnvor pots. 

Wore straightway ilosignated. 

75. Tom >vas a ninny, in their eyes, 
lie was no good provider ; 
lie ought to build a larger house, 

Longer, higher and wider; 
lie had no organ or piano, 
Ho had no wine, nor cider. 

70. The day was il rawing to a close, 
Sol was about retiring; 
How could these ladies all got home — 

They Avere alVaid of miring; 
They had no beaux to escort thom liomo. 
And this was uninspiring, 

77. There wore no pavements and no lamps. 

As in a populous city ; 
Alas ! that "Lords of the creation," 

Far sighted, wise and witty, 
Should bo in such prediciiment I 

1 1 was a grievous jnty. 

7*^. Those dreary woods, and brakes, and swamps. 

How could their nerves endure thom? 

Their shoos and bonnets would be spoU'd, 

And no one would insure thom ; 
And mad dogs might attack thom, too, 
And Jacks with lanterns lure them. 



OLD MAIDS AM) It A (11 KLOKS. 29 

70. "() (U'iir! " says Sue, " there is no moon, 
To light us through the bushes; 
Jn sIeo])y hollow there are snakes, 

Coiiceal'd among the rushes; 
An I on the hill are savage bears, 
That instantly may crush us." 



80. O had you heard their wild complaints. 

Their wails and lamentation, 
You must have pitied them to see 

Their fear and trepidation. 
They almost Tainted then and there, 

dear, what desolation ! 

81. Those legislators, wise uiid brave. 

An hour ai^o were cheerful ; 
'I'he scene is changed from mirth to woe. 

And ev'ry eye is tearful. 
had they but one man along 

They would not feel so fearful! 

82. If (ieorge and .Tohn were only men 

That car'd for frail humanity ! 
If ask'd to see them o'er the hill. 

Perhaps they'd say 'twas vanity; 
Perhaps they'd meet them witli rebuffs, 

Abuses and profanity. 

83. Tom had no cnrtain'd feather beds 

For their accommodation ; 
This was to them a poignant grief. 

To Jin a gre;it vexation. 
She cast a withering look at Tom, 

And thought of their low station. 

3* 



30 'iiiK womkn's ('i)N(iUK>s; oi;. 

SI. "'I'\v;is lucky tli.it 'Voin hiul no beds; 
'I'his \v;is to him no sorrow, 
WluMi \\o t.lioii<:;ht of the feast thovM liud. 

Ami Iho sliirvinj; time to-morrow. 
Wlioro would his brojikfiist como from? 
llcM Ikivc to bi\i^ or borrow. 

S'), His MU'iitiUid broad woro all coiisiuu'd, 

All thai tho hoiiso alVorilod ; 
Althoiii;h tlu'yM passM some wholesome laws, 

Which they thought were well worded, 
Yet when that glorious feast was servM 

They left them unrecorded. 

J^i), Alas! poor Tom! What will you do I-* 
^'our cares are on you hea}>ing; 

^'ou have no peace of mind or body, 
Working, waking or sleeping; 

You're racked and ruined sure enough — 
^'^)u'd better quit housekeeping. 

^7. ^ our family's increasing, Tom, 

Your larder is no fatter ; 
Your wearing out your body, 'L'om, 

Your purse is getting Hatter ; 
\ou'd better nick your jugular, 

And that will end the matter. 

8S. Yes. Tom and Jin, I'll tell you what, 
(Uutyou may think it funny,) 
If you don't know it I can tell, 

It takes a mint of money 
To run a congress such as that. 
And feast on cakes and honey. 



01,1) MAIDS AND I5ACII i:i.Di:S. 3 L 

89. Those two poor hands of yours, T.jin, 

Can't keep tho thing ugoing', 

Unless you ^o to robbini^ banks. 

To keep the money flowing; 
If you can bring it in in loads, 
You'll be a chap wortJi knowing. 

'M). What i-) Iho use of working hard. 
What use in your frugality? 
^'(jiir earnings are not great enough, 

'J'o be a man of quality ; 
'Tis but a visionary notion, Tom, 
You'll find it no reality. 

01. \'our wife has got strange notions, Tom, 

I think she's superstitious; 
She hopes to gain a name and fame; 

She's proud and she's ambitious: 
IJut those women are as proud as she, 

And perha])3 more capricious. 

02. She feeds that host of parasites, 

Who otherwise would shun her; 
Can such as those, who're poor as she. 

Heap fame and wealth upon her ? 
She'll find herself old, bald and gray. 

Still waiting for her honor. 

03. "Would I have such a lot of drones 

On my food gormandizing ? 
You'll never be much richer, Tom, 

Willi your economising. 
I tell you, Tom, they'll keep you down. 

You'll have no chance of rising. 



32 I'liK wjmfn's congress; oh, 

di. Ikit whiit befel that " Jolly Team," 
All sighs and tears and blnslies, 

We left at Tommy's house lamenting 
About the snakes and rushes, 

And hungry, ravenous boars, that might 
Devour them in the bushes ? 

95. l>id those obnoxious bears devour them ? 

O no, they did not want them ! 
Did frightful goblins catch them all? 

Did Jacks with lanterns haunt them? 
Did they get safely tlirough the mire. 

And dill their beaux gallant them? 

90. no — they knew the way full well! 

They foar'd not elves and witches ; 
They all tucked up their petticoats. 

And p;uldlod through the ditches, 
All railing at the worthless men, 

At bachelors an J riches. 

97. They vow'd that when they met again, 

In legislative session. 
They'd make a law that would be felt, 

And make a deep impression ; 
They'd punish stubborn bachelors, 

For every transgression. 



08. Next time the women's congress met 
A keen north wind was blowing ; 
The ground was cover'd o'er with snow- 

This did not stop their going; 
The day before Tom kill'd two hogs — 
What chance had they of knowing? 



OIJ) MAIDS AND I! ACIIHI.OUS. 83 

1)9. Tlie congress was quite hungry, too, 

And long'd for some good eating ; 
And therefore at the sliortest notice 

They cali'd an extra meeting. 
Fresh pork and sausages were on hand ; 

Some laws requir'd completing. 

100. Miss IMolly stated from the chair, 

That in this very section, 
Some glaring facts had come to light 

Of a widespread disaffection ; 
Therefore, prompt action was requir'd, 

To prevent an insurrection. 

Miss Mull I/. 

101. " Honorable members of this congress, 

I would call your attention 
To a matter the most important, 

A ciise of wide dissension ; 
The bachelors are ready to revolt. 

We must find some prevention. 

102. *' Of all the stupid bachelors, 

Old George and John beat all; 
But George is getting worse and worse. 

He's like a Hint-stone wall : 
Therefore, on George, and not on John, 

Let our displeasure fall." 

Miss Sue. 

103. " What sort of men are (Jeorge and .lohn ? 

How is it they're so curious? 
I never saw two men like them, 

So selfish and penurious ; 
For woman's charms and suasive arts', 

Hut make them inad and furious. 



34 THE women's congress; or, 

104. " They still reject Love's overture3, 

And women they despise ; 
Set our authority ut naught, 

As though we were not wise ; 
AVhat shall Ave do to bring them to, 

AVhat plan can we devise ? 

105. " We ought to ofler some great prize, 

To capture George and John ; 
Or one, at least, 'twill be a gain, 

'J'o capture even one ; 
For this will disconcert their plans — 

The victory will be won. 

106. " We've tried mild measures long enough, 

But these were all discarded ; 
We pass'd a law to lay a tax, 

And this Avas disregarded ; 
Now we must bring our largest guns, 

Their fort must be bombarded. 

107. "Like Avolves or other beasts of prey. 

They must be hunted down; 
And anyone who captures them 

Shall have a myrtle crown. 
A noble chance for maidens, this, 

To earn themselves renown. 

108. " I do detest old bachelors, 

As I detest old Harry ; 
They're enemies to womankind, 

Because they will not marry. 
How many noble matches do, 

On their account, miscarrv. 



OLD MAID5 AND BACHELORS. 35 

109. ''Methinks it strange that two old men 

Shouldcause us such alarm ; 
We would not notice tlieni, did they 

Not do us so much harm. 
They think they have a right, no doubt, 

Because they own a farm. 

110. " Honorable ladies, you all know 

How shamefully they treat us; 
They call us Avenches, witches, elves ; 

Do ev'rything but beat us. 
If we do not bestir ourselves 

They surely will defeat us." 

Miss Dolly. 

111. " Hold on. Miss Sue — do you call them men ? 

Why, that's a wrong expression ; 
I never saw a man before 

Made after such a fashion ; 
What man that really is a man 

For looman has no passion ? 

113. "But George and John, for aught I know. 

No feelings have in common 
With other men — I've wonder'd oft 

If they are really human. 
It seems they can't be civilized, 

So little they care for woman. 

113. *•' Old George is such a strange old chap, 

So odd perverse a creature, 
Contrariness and stubbornness 

Are wrapp'd up in his nature ; 
He differs little from a mule, 

Except in form and feature. 



36 THK womkn's coxouess; or, 

111. " But 1 can't speak on such !i theme, 
My hoiirt with uiiger overflows; — 
Miss Molly — she can tell you more, 

For no one better knows ; 
This same old Ceorgo, I nmlcM-staiul, 
Is one of her old beaux. 

115. " iSlio's had rxporioiico in tiiese matters, 
She's been to conrting school ; 

She's learn'd the art of conjuration, 
Anil making love by rnle. 

She eai\ contrive some plan, to tame 
A donkey or a mnle. 

1 1 (J. '• Miss Betty has not spoken yet 
On this important matter ; 

She knows a thing or two of John ; 
No woman here knows better ; 

And she no doubt could capture him 
If yon would only let her. 

117. " Why not at once commission her. 

For she's the one can take him ; 
She'll run him down, I'm sure she will; 

She'll bridle him and break him ; 
Old as he is she'll conquer him, 

And tame enough she'll make him." 

Mi\^s Bctfi/. 

118. *' Miss IXilly seems to intimate 

That I'm wa-app'd up in Johnny ; 
If slie thinks so she's much mistaken. 

I'd like to have his money ; 
But for himself I care but little. 

He is so thin and bony. 



OLD >f\lDS AND R.VCHELORS. 37 

119. "He courted me — or I courted him — 

About twenty years a^o; 
I then had hopes of whiiiina; him, 

Have I never toUl you so ? 
I think perhaps I was too fast, 

Or else lie was too xJoir. 

120. " "We used to meet by accident, 

And I walk'd by his side; 
And I thouf^ht I felt his heart throb. 

Like the flowing of the tide. 
At length it ceasM to beat for mc — 

T ne'er became his bride. 

121. "I think 1 might have gotten him 

If not for his old mother ; 
She bitterly oppos'd the match, 

And so did George, his brother ; 
But I was independent, and thought 

I soon could get another. 

122. " They had something in their noddles, 

Which they refus'd to tell us; 
They told hard tales about me, too. 

And tried to make John jealous; 
They said I was a vain coquette, 

And had too many fellows. 

123. "John, as you know, was always slow, 

And this was aggravating; 
T could not get him to propose ; 

He needed stimulating; 
Sol thought I'd let him know 

I'd other fellows wjiiting. 

4 



38 THE women's congress; or, 

124. " And thinking this would spur him on^ 

For he needed spurs you know, 
I some-limes walk'd with other chaps, 

I'd many a smart young beau. 
For 1 was young aiul pretty then, 

And made a charming show. 

125. " Though this was but a ruse of mine, 

It wounded Johnny's feelings; 
From that time forth he sulk'd and frown'd. 

And we had no more dealings ; 
He flouted me — he would not hear 

My reasons and appeal ings. 

12G. *'And all the other fellows left. 
They dropp'd off one by one ; 
I found out wlien it was too late, 

I ought to have kept John ; 
Though he was slow, yet a slow coach 
Is better far than none. 

127. " I niiss'd the mark — I must confess 

I acted indiscreetly ; 
By flirting with too many beaux, 
I fool'd myself completely. 

had I linU'd my fate with John's- 
We could have liv'd so sweetly. 

128. " I lov'd John then, I think I did. 

And tliink I still could love him ; 
Though I treated him unkindly, 
I never thought myself above him; 

1 often feel remorse and shame 

That I to madness drove him. 



OLD MAIDS AND H AC II R LOUS. 39 

139. " This inconsidcr.ite not of mine 

Seem'd to affect his mind ; 
The tender passion died within him, 

To love he was no more inclin'd; 
It rous'd a spirit of revenge 

Against all womankind. 

130. " My heart tells me 'twas all my fault, 

My fickleness and folly, 
Had wrought in him so great a change. 

And made him melancholy; 
For he was once like other men. 

Cheerful, brisk and jolly. 

131. " His mother at length began to sink, 

The doctor could not save her ; 
Poor creature, tliou^h I hated her, 

I tacitly forgave h t. 
When she died would have besn my chance. 

Had I then been in favor. 

133. "But silly creature th it I was, 

I made another blunder; 
While John was overcome with grief, 

I might have brought him under; 
And that I did not try, at least. 

It is the greatest wonder. 

133. " ITad I known then what I know now. 

And steer'd my course according, 
I would have work'd for George and John, 

Though T got naught but boarding; 
They like a woman that can work, 

And one that's fond of hoardinof. 



40 TiiK avomkn's coxgress; ou, 

131. "Jolm luis 11 mint, of money s;ivM, 
Anil money is most luuuly; 

'Tis good he did not spend it jill 
On lager beer and brandy ; 

I hate the name and the sight of 
A spendthrift, fop or dandy. 

135. *' I've seen enongh of snch vain fops, 
And been bamboozl'd by tliem ; 

If you don't know it yon'll ilnd ont. 
You only trnst and try them ; 

They lie and cheat— you'll be deceiv'd, 
As sure as yon come nigh them. 

130. "Now, huiies, pray don't injnro .lohn, 
In body, wind or limb; 
That was a romping lie 1 told, 
('Twas but a foolish whim,) 
When 1 said I'd like to have his money, 
l?nt did not care for him." 

Miss Molhj. 

137. " These two hard cases hitherto. 

Have baffl'd all our skill ; 
Ami various measures we have tried, 

But they del'y us still. 
I never saw two men like th?m, 

or such a stubborn will. 

138. "I have myself tried various mean?. 

Old George to captivate ! 
I've acted seriously, and I 
Seem'd solemn and sedate ; 
But all this did not in his heart 
A sjiark of love create. 



OLD MAIDS ANTD ItACIIKLORS. il 

13'.). " I've sprcjul my beauties all abroad, 
As pea-fowla spread their feathers; 

I've feii,ni'd to admire his cows and calves, 
And prais'd his ewes and wethers; 

I've been well plcas'd to see his hens, 
And lambs and calves in tetl)ers. 

140. " With laws and statutes 'tis no use 

For us to try to beat them ; 
They only mock and lauf,rh at us — 

By such means we can't cheat them; 
And we mu^t try severer means, 

As outlaws we must treat them. 

141. "With you, Miss Husic, I agree, 

We must adopt some plan 
To silence or to subjugate 

These two obstreperous men. 
Were two such rebels ever known 

Since first the world bagan? 

142. " Miss lietty seems to pity them, 

And thinks they're not to blame; 
But I don't pity them a whit; 

It really is a shame, 
That none of us can have a beau, 

But they must know his name. 

143. *' Then they must tell liow old we are, 

How many beaux we've had, 
As if it were their business; 

0, is it not too bad ! 
If they can scare the beaux away, 

It seems to make them glad. 



42 THE women's congress; or, 

14-i. " What is their object — I would ask, 

Can any of you tell us ? 
They will not have us it appears, 

Then why should they be jealous? 
Why should they mar our prospects then 

By driving off our fellows ? 

145. " I have no patience with the fools ; 

'Tis enough to make me curse; 
As age comes on they ought to mend, 

But they are getting worse; 
They're like the dog that would not eat 
' The corn, nor let the horse. 

146. *' ladies, isn't this a hard world 

For women like you and me ? 
Nobody knows what trouble we have, 

But those who've been to see ; 
Who ever pities poor old maids, 

Or listens to their plea. 

147. " Because we have no husbands 

To cherish and protect ns. 
We're left to grovel on our way 

With no one to direct us ; 
While those we meet look coldly on. 

And few indeed respect us. 

148. " How diff'rent is the face of things 

When one begins to fade ; 
Tiiough in her prime she brightly shone, 

She's now cast in the shade. 
I've oft been called e'en to my face, 

A wither'd cross old maid. 



OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 43 

140. '' They say T'ni like a faJed flower, 

My hair is getting gray; 
They say I'm cross and crooked grain'd ; 

And what do they not say? 
If I am rro.'^s I have a cause, 

Which you will know some day. 

150. "'Tis not my ftiult that I am single, 

Or that 1 have no beaux ; 
'Tis not my fault that I am old, 

ihn so this vain worldgoes. 
If not for fickle men we might 

Be married I suppose. 

151. " Perhaps I was too choicy, for 

I miss'd some splendid chances; 
Young fellows us'd to look on me 

With wistful eyes and glances; 
Ah, had I but accepted them, 

IIow chang'd my circumstances. 

152. " But trifling with and waiting for 

Old George, my prime was past; 
I kept my virtue all for him, 

And thought to hold him fast ; 
But oh, frustrated were my hopes, 

He jilted me at last. 

153. "He'll marry me yet, do you say? 

wouldn't that be sport — 
Not likely though, for he is not 

One of the marrying sort. 
I'm sure ten years is long enough 

For any man to court. 



44 TTTK women's congukss; oil, 

154. "I lov'd him tenderly :iiul long, 

As woman only can ; 
I did not sport witli other beaux, 

1 had no other man ; 
lUit at the last he was no nearer 

Than when he lirst heijjan. 

155. " ^'et tlu)ii,ii;h 1 h)vM him tenderly, 

And blindly iloated on him, 
lie won hi not have mo after all 

The kindness I had shown him ; 
I'm sure some ^reai calamity 

Some day will Tall ui>oa him. 

15(). '■ Now i^ it any womlcr ladioii, 

If I am sour and cros?, 
Consid'rinjj; how he treated me, 

Antl thinkini; of my loss ? 
Ah, my aUbctions were misplac'd, 

And look'd on as but dross. 

157, "My precious time was sacriliced, 

J\ly love was thrown away; 
My hopes became a complete wreck, 

And now the })eoi)le say 
I'm old and cranky, sour and cross, 

And getting bald and gray. 

158. *'This tattling, slaud'ring, lying, 

1 hate it and I dread it ; 
How many vain upstarts there are 

AVho'd tell a lie and spread it ! 
But Avith all their malice they can't say 

A word to my discredit. 



()1,I) MAIDS AND 15 A CHI'; LOUS. 45 

159. " W'c have no husbands and no men 

To protect 113 and provide ; 
To shiehl ns from the sland'rers ton<^ue, 

H'rom impudence and pride. 
Ah, siiif^Ie women sucli as we, 

Must row 'gainst wind and tide. 

IGO. "Perhai)3 like mc you're weari'd witli 
This world and all its care ; 
To be neglected and traduc'd 

Is more than I can bear ; 
For e'en young ladies proud and vain, 
Turn up their eyes a*id stare. 

101. "At times, when brooding o'er my fate, 

I've been so mor tilled, 
I've thought of hanging, drowning, poison, 

Pistols and suicide, 
To end my inisery at once. 

And lloat off with the tide. 

10::^. "Life is to me a burthen now. 

And I am sad and wi'ary ; 
As far as I can see ahead. 

The way is rough and dreary, 
And how can I endure the (oil ? 

Alas! this is a query. 

103. "Society has lost Its cliarnii, 
.My happiness is gone, 
Some of my old :ie(|uaintauce8 
Have partners of their own ; 
While I am doomM, it saenn to me, 
'i'o travel on nloiie. 



4C TlIK WOMKX'S COXGUESS; OR, 

1G4. "0, lor A homo upon the mount, 
A peaceful home up tiiere ; 

Where I mii^lit live in solitude, 
Away from strife and care, 

Amid the wild vomantie scenes, 
To pass my days in prayer. 

1G5. *' It seems to me I could enjoy 

The riv'lets murmuring sound, 

The crai]:gy knolls, the tow'ring peaks, 
And rugged scenery round ; 

Nor fear the bear^ and catamounts, 
That near me might abound. 

160. "'Twould be an earthly Paradise, 

To live without regret ; 
If all the sorrows of my V\l\\ 

I only could forgot ; 
But, as you say, there is the rub. 

And that's what makes me fret 

ion. "Ladies, it is a well-known fact, 
We have our share of sorrow : 

Our anxious days and sleejiless nights, 
The same hard fate to-morrow. 

'Tis not because we are in want. 
We need not beg or borrow. 

168. "Our foes are many, and thoy would 
Destroy our leputation ; 
All sorts of lies and calumny 

They put in circulation. 
What have ur ilone to rouse thoir ire. 
Or deserve thoir execration.'' 



OLD MAIDS AND HACHELORS. 47" 

Miss Dolly. 
IGi). "Miss Molly, do not talk so long 
In such H dolerul strain ; 
It makes us sad and sorrowful 
To hear you thus complain ; 
You mind us of the blissful days 
Wo ne'er must see again. 

170. " F.ut ladies, let us not forget 

The object of our mission ; 
What are we met for — is it not 

To better our condition ? 
Why should we then consume our time, 

]i\ sadness and contrition? 

171. " AVe need not talk of sympathy, 

And thus unstring our nerves ; 
No, each must stand up to the rack, 

And woe to her who swerves ; 
Her constituents in their wrath. 

Will treat her as she deserves. 

172. "So rally round the standard all, 

Kight down to business go; 
We've trifled long enough, so far 

Our movements have been slow ; 
All single women look to us 

Our energy to show. 

]7'3. "1 have a long jietition here, 

Whicli has just come to hand ; 
Its diction and its })enmanship 

Are excellent and grand ; 
Its language is the plainest Saxon, 
That all can understand. 



48 THE women's congress; or, 

174. *' Please pass it round, Miss Sasip, 

For it will bear inspection ; 
That's women's work and no mistake, 

It needs not much correction ; 
And all they ask of us is but 

A laAv for their protection. 

175. "That the document is genuine, 

Admits of no dispute; 
The petitioners, as we all know, 

Are women of repute; 
We must do something for them, 

We must strike at the root." 

Tommijs Wife. 
*' Please let the document be read. Let the clerk 

read it." 

Clerk Beads. 

"To the honorable, the members of the Women's Con- 
gress, now in Congress assembled at Scagg's Hollow, 
in the county of Baltimore and State of Maryland : 
" Whereas, woman owing to her being the weaker 
vessel, and owing to the present state of society, and 
present custom, labors under great inconvenience for 
want of a surer and more effective method of uniting 
her destiny with the other sex ; 

"We therefore ask your honors to consider our petition : 
" A man has the privilege, according to present cus- 
tom, of paying his addresses to a woman ; of courting 
her, of winning her affections, and of marrying her or 
not as suits his convenience or his caprice. Many of 
them abuse this privilege, and after winning one woman's 
love and confidence, and setting her on the highest 
pinnacle of hope abandon her without a cause and pay 



OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 49 

their addresses to others ; thus blighting poor women's 
hopes and breaking their hearts and entailing misery on 
them during the remainder of their days. Now, as the 
chief end and object of women is matrimony and ma- 
ternity, and the vigor and well-being of their progeny 
depend in a great measure upon early marriage, we beg 
that a law may be passed to promote these objects. 

""We, your petitioners, being all single ladies, of ages 
ranging from 30 to 50 (though this is a secret between 
us and you), owing to the fickleness and vacillating 
policy of the other sex, are in great want of husbands. 
Therefore, we would acknowledge ourselves greatly in- 
debted to you if you would pass the following law or 
one similar to it, viz.: That any single woman of this 
realm being of sound mind and sound body be em- 
powered and authorized to make advances toward any 
unmarried man, being of sound mind and sound body, 
and of a proper age, and also that she be empowered and 
authorized to make proposals, to form alliances, and to 
do all acts relating to matrimonial affairs that men have 
a right to do, and we will ever pray, »S:c." 

To the above petition was attached a long list of 
names of illustrious females, some forty or fifty. 

Jliss Dolly. 
" This is a noble document. The petitioners ask for a 
law the want of which has long been felt. There is 
nothing unreasonable in it. It meets my views ex- 
actly. I can endorse it with all my heart and 
I do not suppose it Avill meet with any oppo- 
sition. Had there been such a law in vogue long ago 
we might perhaps all of us, now be well married, and 
have our children around us to bless us in our old age." 



50 THE women's congress; OB, 

Miss Betty. 
" 1 also heartily approve of that bill. I will go for it 
"with all my strength. And I know that if we pass it 
we shall bj honored as long as we live. And no doubt 
our constituents when we get home will carry us on 
their shoulders in triumph. Let us call for the yeas 
and nayp, but 1 am sure there will be no nays." 

Tommy's Wife. 

"Ladies — let us not be too hasty in this matter; and 
let us do our business sjstematicall}-. I am not going 
to oppose the bill. I will vote for it for your sakes, and 
for the sake of all unmarried ladies, but as to myself 
tiie bill, if it becomes a law, Avill not help me in the least. 
I know who I must have already. I married when I 
was too young to have good sense. If I had my time to 
live over again I am sure that I could do better, but 
that has nothing to do with the bill now before us. But 
before you proceed further with this bill, have it drawn 
up in regular form, so that it may be distinctly under- 
stood, not by ourselves alone but by everybody else. 
Heretofore we have been doing our business in such a 
loose and careless way that we have become the butt and 
jest of all bacbelordom. So I say let the business be 
done up right this time. I don't pretend to know much 
about legislation, but I know that a bill, when it becomes 
a law, must be entered on the statute book and must also 
be published." 

All agreed that this suggestion of Tommy's Avife was 
a good one. Accordingly, Miss Molly, Miss Susie and 
Tommy's wife, resolving themselves into a committee, 
and putting their heads together, drew up and reported 
the following: 



OLD MATDS AND BACHELORS. Dl 

"Be it enacted by us, the Women's Congress, now in 
Congress assembled, and it is enacted by the authority 
of the same: That any single woman of this realm, 
being of sound mind and sound body, be empowered 
and authorized to make advances towards any unmar- 
ried man, of sound mind and sound body, atid of a 
proper ag-s to make proposals, to form alliances, and to 
do all other acts relating to matrimonial affiiirs that 
men have heretofore had a right to do. Done at Scaggs 
Hollow, in the county of Baltimore, and State of Mary- 
land, this day of A.D., 18 " 

17G. The law was pass'd without delay, 

And withont opposition; 
For all agreed it was the thing 

'J'o better their condition; 
And force the grim old bachelors 

To yield in tame submission. 

177. You bachelors look to your props, 

And look out for your bacon, 
You who despis'd the female sex. 

And call'd themcrack'd and shaken, 
If you expect to evade this law, 

You're woefully mistaken. 

178. Under this law the old maids have 

The right to fall upon you ; 
Hard will you fare if you resist, 

They'll have no mercy on you ; 
But if you peacefully submit. 

No injury will be done you. 



52 THE women's congress; or, 

179. You need not fear — ;f you submit — 

Their treatment "will be tender; 
But you'll be eaten up alive, 

If you do not surrender ; 
If a woman waits upon you, 

Don't you dare to offend her. 

180. You've oft been warn'd by words and sign?, 

You've had your warnings yearly; 
'Twill serve 3 ou right if they catch yon, 

And treat you most severely — 
You crusty, wrinkl'd bachelors — 

For you deserve it dearly. 

181. You saw your error long ago, 

And yet refus'd compliance ; 
You've had your opportunities. 

To form a close alliance; 
But you despis'd the women's powers, 

And set them at defiance. 

182. You've had your day, but now 'tis past, 

And clouds and storms impend ; 
'Tis a long lane that has no turns, 

A long career that has no end ; 
But in a storm the tree must break. 

If 'tis too stiff to bend. 

183. Alas poor George! Alas poor John! 

You long have run the plough ; 
You've done it for yourselves alone. 

But what will you do now ? 
Though you are rich and well-to-do, 

Y^'ou to this law must bow. 



OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 53 

184. The bond of union you have form'd, 

Is not to last forever ; 
Unseen events are coming on, 

Which you have thought of never ; 
The " witches " soon will be let loose, 

Your partnership to sever. 

185. Great preparations are on foot, 

For a glorious campaign ; 
You'll be assail'd by such a host. 

The fight you can't sustain ; 
They'll try their tricks and stratagems, 

They'll try, and try again. 

186. Of sharp engagements you will hear, 

Of captures all around you; 
Of brilliant victories fought and won, 

The rumors will confound you ; 
The captures of your bachelor friends, 

Will grieve you and astound you. 

George to John. 

187. " What will become of bachelors now ? 

dear, there is no telling ; 
Will they have any farms to till, 

Or have a house to dwell in ? 
Will our new rulers stop our work, 

Our buying and our selling ? 

188. " Under this new order of things. 

Will apple trees bear peaches ? 
Will men be women and women men, 

And who will wear the breeches? 
Will women do the ploughing too, 

As well as make grand speeches ? 



54 THE women's congress; or, 

189. '-'Tis said the bachelors' doom is seal'd, 

Their whole tribe must go under; 
They'll be assail'd on ev'ry side, 

AVith lightning, fire, and thunder; 
If any of their tribe escape, 

'Twill be a mighty wonder. 

190. " What do you think of these affairs. 

What's your advice dear brother ? 
AVe own this farm — we've work'd hard here. 

Assisting one another ; 
And by our own industrious thrift. 

We've scrap'd some cash together. 

191. " We never ask'd for fee or favor, 

Of any of the women breed ; 
We've never done them any harm, 

In thought or word or deed ; 
Why should they then make war on us ? 

Is this their moral creed ? 

192. "If disappointments they have seen, 

In their lascivious wooing; 
Or if some lecherous fellow is 

The cause of their undoing ; 
W^iat's that to you and me dear John ? 

We'd no hand in their ruin. 

193. "Shall we give up our farm and house, 

To let them rummage through it? 
And dig a hole in yonder hill, 

Like rabbits crawl into it ? 
Or shall we stand in our defense? 

I feel iticlin'd to do it." 



OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 55 

Jolm. 

194. "Don't be alarm'd at their wild threats, 

Don't be in such a fluster; 
They're nothing but a bag of wind, 

And all their talk is bluster; 
They cannot rout a Hock of geese, 

With all the force they muster. 

195. " That congress! What an institution! 

And can't they do some talking ? 
But when it comes to active work, 

There'll be jostling and balking; 
They'll fret, and sweat, and faint, and fall. 

With half an hour's walking. 

196. "They'll eat us up alive 'tis said ; 

Why that excites my laughter; 
They'll eat our bread and pork, perhaps, 

And that's what they are after ; 
They've eaten Tommy's up, you know. 

And Tom is getting dafter. 

197. " Who cares for their laws and statutes. 

Their nonsense and their speeches ? 
They're only sorry they have no men, 

That they might wear the breeches. 
Lord ! if they had wealthy men, ^ 

What lessons they could teach us. 

198. " pshaw! old maids go a courting — 

And force old baclielors fo marry ! 
What do they know of such affiiirs y 

Eeally they beat old Ilarrv. 
What vain pri'sumption and conceit! 

lint all their pl.ms miscarry. 



5G THE women's congkess; or, 

199. " They must think men are silly fools, 

That they must crouch and tremble, 
When crack'd old maids in wanton freak, 

In congress do assemble; 
And if they point a wooden gun. 

Old bachelors must tumble. 

200. "But Where's the man, though made of dough, 

That would be such a flunky. 
As yield to them in tame submission, 

And show himself a monkey ? 
I'd think myself a pretty fool, 

And folks would call me donkey. 

201. " The devil's in that party, George, 

As sure as you're a sinner ; 
They are a wily, wiry set, 

And Molly is the winner; 
And I am not well pleas'd with them. 

For eating Tommy's dinner. 

202. " 'tis a sin, a burning sin. 

That Tom should feed so many ; 
They ought to be asham'd of it, 

But shame they have not any. 
what a pity that poor Tom, 

E'er married such a granny. 

203. "That wife of his invites the imps, 

She harbors them and feeds them ; 
She gives them all her bread and meat, 

When she so badly needs them ; 
Though they are silly fools yet she 

In silliness exceeds them." 



OLD MAIDS AND BACHELOUS. 57 

Miss Betty. 

204. "Is it possible that George and John, 

For all thelove we've shown them; 
Are still revengeful — while we are 

Bestowing favors on them ; 
And has the law we've lately pass'd, 

Into a tremor thrown them ? 

205. "They treat us still with disrespect, 

With irony and scorn ; 
They slander ns — they mock and sneer, 

As though we were base-born ; 
And will they never change their tune, 

And will they never turn ? 

20G. " Blind mortals — as respects this law — 
They cannot e'en see through it ; 
This law is for their benefit, 
If the fools only knew it; 
We do not wish to injure them ; 
If we did, we couldn't doit. 

207. " Our motives they have misconstrued, 

As Tommy's wife foretold; 
Our object is to hunt stray sheep. 

And bring them to the fold ; 
'Tis for the good of bachelors, 

That they should be controll'd. 

208. "But George is thinking of his farm, 

And wond'ring how to save it; 
And that stocking full of money. 

As if he thinks we crave it; 
And John is somewhat frighten'd too. 

Though he may try to brave it. 



58 THE avomen's congress; or, 

209. ''They think our object is to kill, 

And that we'vo fonn'd a ])lot 
To wayhiy them and cut tlieir throats. 

And take all they have got; 
But this is far from our intent, 

For we will harm them not. 

210. "We don't deny but 'tis our aim, 

To capture their whole nation ; 
Not by force and deadly weapons. 

But love and moral suasion. 
Somebody ought to tell them so, 

To allay their agitation. 

211. " But 'tis perhaps the best tor us 

To let them rave and grumble ; 
For when their passion is blown off, 

They'll be more tamo and humble; 
And from their airy llights ere long, 

They'll come down with a tumble. 

212. "It tickles me and makes me laugh. 

To think that they're so frighten'd ; 
I hope that by this circumstance. 

Our prospects may be brighten'd ; 
And that our burthens iind our sorrows, 

By these means may be lighten'd." 

7'o»iniifs Wife. 

213. "Ladies, one and all, let me speak, 

And mark you well each sentence, 
I ought to know a thing or two. 

From thirty years' acquaintance; 
For thirty years of married life, 

Has brought me to repentance. 



OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 59 

214. " I've got a man you say ! that's true, — 

And this you think a blessing; 
But mind, there's more in married life 

Than kissing and caressing; 
Just try it once and you'll llnd nut 

There's something more distressing. 

215. " .fust get a half a dozen brats, 

(Jrunibling, whining, squalling, 
Or thundering round the premises, 

As if the house were falling; 
And some poor women have a dozen ; — 

Lord help them how appalling. 

21G, "And children must be car'd for too; 

Potatoes must be planted; 
Bread, meat, coffee, sugar, butter, rice, 

Olo'Jnn:;-, shoe?, and hats, are wanted; 
You have no iv iiDvvledge of the wants; 

And cliildreii can't be scanted. 

217. "None but a mother knows or feels. 

The harrowing cares that rend her; 
What does the father care about it, 

What help doss he e'er lend her ? 
Slie tugs and toils day after day, 

AVith no one to befriend her. 

218. "The man can plough an hour or two. 

And then com3 home to dinner, 
While she is struggling with her cares 

W^ith all the powers in her; 
Then he lies down and goes to sleep, 

Like any other sinner. 



60 THE women's cokgkess; or, 

219. "Yon ladies — I'm surprised at you, 

That you should be so foolish ; 
That you should be in your old age, 

So babyish and 'pulish;' 
You know but little of the men, 

They're stubborn, mean, and mulish. 

220. " I tell you ladies, married life, 

Is not what you may think it; 
You'll find it is a bitter draught, — 

But you're not bound to drink it; 
Avoid it as a leaky ship. 

And let the water sink it. 

231. *' You'd better be in purgatory, 
You may depend upon it. 
Sure as you marry you'll be sorry ; 
You'll wish you hadn't done it; 
If I were single as you are, 

How I would shake my bonnet." 

Miss Dolly. 

222. " The time for action has arriv'd, 

Now is the time or never ; 
So put forth all your energies, 

And use your best endeavor; 
Prepare yourselves for this campaign, 

With bow and well-fill'd quiver. 

223. " Let roses bloom upon your cheeks, 

And powder hide each wrinkle ; 
Let red lips smile their sweetest smile, 

And let the eyeballs twinkle ; 
Let false hair wave around your necks. 

And with rose-water sprinkle. 



OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 61 

224. " Let us invoke the goddesses, 

Minerva, Juno, Venus, 
To aid us in our enterprise, 

And from all danger screen us ; 
And let us brave all obstacles, 

That may spring up between us. 

225. " This great reproach of maidenhood, 

That long has rested on us, 
Must be wip'd off without delay, 

And wicked sprites that shun us, 
Will court our friendship and our favors, 

And honors confer upon us. 

226. "We must respect tlie married women, 

AVhose heads are bow'd and hoary, 
But let them not discourage us. 

With such a woeful story, 
Telling us that if we marry, 

We'll be in purgatory. 

227. " We doubt not that some matrons have 

Their share of care and sorrow ; 
But we believe that some of them 

One-half their troubles borrow ; 
Yet we know some who've lost their men, 

AVould wed again to-morrow. 

228. "A dozen children, we admit, 

Is one or two too many ; 
But none of us need have that number ; 

Indeed will we have any? 
But if a hen can scratch for ten, 

And no more she's a zany, 
u 



62 THE wo.mkn's congress; or., 

329. " tell us not of single life, 
It's joys and satisfaction ; 

If we believe all that we hear, 
'Twill drive us to distraction ;. 

So let us cease this foolish talk, 
Let us proceed to action. 

230. ''(>ur time is short — we can't atljnl,. 

To pass the iiours unheeded ; 
'J'he games afoot — we must be up; 

Alore ])ronij)titude is needed : 
Let Jennie talk, but let our course,. 

No longer be impeded. 

531. " What's a woman without a man ? 

A helpless, aimless creature ; 
And what's a man without a wife ? 

An oddity of nature ; 
A shiftless, thriftless, selllsh churl, 

A boor in form and feature. 

*^3v\ " Ijudies, kt"s get our business done,, 
Let's get our laws completed ; 

And not be trilling with our time,. 
And not remain here seated: 

If we do not bestir ourselves,. 
We'll surely be defeated." 



)lo'i. The hours Hew o'er the western hills,. 

On golden wings so fleetly ; 
The sun had set. — the stars pe.^p'd down^ 

And smil'd on earth so sweetly ; 
The Congress took no note of time, 

lUit lost itself completely. 



OLD MAIDS AND It Ad IK LOUS. G3 

23 i. And now they'd had a lively time, 

Of mirth and recreation ; 
They'd m^t with little opposition, 

In their deliberation ; 
Though Jin threw water on the fire, 

It burn'd without cessation. 

235. Well pleas'd were they with their days' work, 

They laiigh'd, they jok'd, they ranted; 
Exulting o'er the law they'd pass'd, 

And privileges granted; 
Not d()Ml)tii)g they would now obtain, 

What they SO long had wanted. 

236. Old maiden? — and youmj maidens too, 

Need only beat the bushes, 
And they could catch the crafty birds, 

Linnets, larks, jays, and thrushes: 
The bachelors though cold as clods, 

Could not resist their blushes. 

237. Ere they adjourn'd it was resolv'd. 

To buckle on their armor ; 
And like knight errants to go forth. 

As soon as days got warmer. 
In search of wonderful adventures. 

With forester or farmer. 

238. But 'twas agrecMl among themselves, 

(So birtld and crickets tell us,) 
That each should single out her man, 

And no one should be jealon,«, 
Lc3t they 8lioMl(U|uai're! with each other. 

Or fight about their Hfllowp. 



64 THE women's congress; or, 

239. Molly should try her arts on George, 

And Betty hers on Johnny ; 
And Doll and Sue, two fellows knew, 

Two fellows who had money ; 
And if they did not catch them both, 

They'd think it very funny. 

2-40. Tliey'd leave no stone unturn'd, they said ; 

In ev'ry way they'd try them ; 
They'd lie in ambush, they declar'd, 

And wait till they came by them; 
By arts and tricks and stratagems. 

And blandishments, they'd ply them. 

241. Anticipating sure success. 

The congress was quite merry, 
Not thinking that old bachelors, 

Might prove to be contrary. 
Though George and John had fears at first. 

Yet these were momentary. 

242. They plodded on as heretofore, 

And fed their sheep and cattle ; 
They threshed their crops, and sold fine calves. 

And sav'd the precious metal ; 
They car'd not what outsiders did. 

They had no fears of battle. 

243. No preparation for defense, 

They ever thought of making ; 
By night or day they felt secure. 

Working, sleeping, or waking ; 
When they went in and out, no arms 

They ever thought of taking. 



OLD MAID8 AND BACHELORS. 65 

2-4 L No bastions, no wall, no trenches 
Did they deem necessary; 
Xo sentinels were posted round ; 
No sleepless watch-dogs wary 
Did tiiey procure as body-guards, 
For they were so contrary. 

245. I know not if they were aware 

Of what was passing round them ; 
Perhaps they thought they were secure, 

AVith woods and swamps to bound them. 
But e'en in this secluded spot, 

The cunning elves soon found tiiem. 

246. Old Sol in his diurnal course. 

Was daily mounting higher ; 
Old winter in his shaggy coat, 

Was ready to retire ; 
Noon shadows were diminishing, 

The Equinox drew nigher. 

247. 'J'o Boreal regions far away, 

Wild geese had wing'd their flight ; 
The birds in all the hedges round, 

8eem'd merry and polite; 
The frogs from out their dormitory, 

Had come to seek the liglit. 

248. As George and John stroll'd out to see 

If cattle were encroaching ; 
Or if the sportsmen were about, 

Intent on theft and poaching, 
They were elated with the prospect 

That spring was fast approaching. 



66 TiiK womkn's oonukess; or, 

y l'.». Tlioy Iviu'w lliat. by (lioir watch fill U03S, 

Tlioir iufrosl w.'is proiuotiHl ; 
Vot tlioii_i;h llu'v wiTo so vigihiui, 

Ami (i) tlu'ir farm ilovotoil, 
Soino ])atha tiiul trucks across thoir ryo, 

And in tlio sinl thoy noted. 

250. Jjiko ('rusi>i\ .K>lui bocaiuo alannM, 

At tootpriuls so niystt'rious; 
And (k>orgo though often irritated, 

linjnilaivo and iinporiou?, 
Could not iuiiiiriuo what this nioant; 

It uiatlo hiui sad and serious. 

'^ol. What sort of creatures could thoy be, 
Tliat made those tracks so curious? 

!Not savages — not eauuibals — 
Not Indians, wild and furious — 

Nor burglars sure, that prey u\w\\ 
'Phe rich and the luxurious. 

2o"3. "Those are not Indian tracks" said (lOorge, 
"Nor white mens," .lohn replied: 

*' The footprints are imt large enough, 
Nor long enough the stride; 

And Indians wear no shoes you know, 
Theii- feet are long and wide." 

!v5o. "They must be nymphs" said (George, '* or naiads, 

That come here uninvited ; " 
" Or more likely /'(f/r/VV said John, 

Uecoming now excited : 
" Oh 1 if such creatures bo about^ 

Our /•//(• will sure be blighted." 



()I,I) MAIDS AND IIACIIKI.OUS. fJ7 

;^51. " /'(f ivies'' — siiid (JoorKf^ — " I'vo Iminl of llicin," 
Now Hpciikin;^ mom (Iciiiiircly ; 
"In Ircliuid, I'm told, Uwy pluy kiicIi pniiiks, 

And roam iilxtut w^niirely : 

II" llicHo iiro of tin.' Irinii brcod, 

'I'lic (IcviIh in tlicm .surdy. 

2!}'}. " Unt John, ciiii'L wo conlrivo to cuich ono — 

In triip or Huiin) — or troo it ? 
And ou<^(3 it in somo open 8i)acp, 

Wlicrc ;dl the, rcHt cim sco it? 
Wonld thiit not lVi;;litcn them jivvuy V 

If you tliink so — so be it. 

yr)(i. " ( )r coMldn'L we hIiooL oik; and nail it up, 

A;j;ain8t the barn orHlabIc? 
Or hat)^ it on a pole or saplin^r, 

High up upon the kiJ^'jI^S 
Ah W(; \\;u\f^ liavvkH, mai/-(( thieves, and crown, 

That are not lit for table ? " 

^'57. "<>1 says .John," if I (ronld only Kce one ! 
lint they're i-o shy and (Minning, 
I fear we can't ^(d, near to them. 

They beat old scratch at running: 
They only lan<^h at trapa and snares, 
There'd be no ns(! in «^unnin;^'." 

258. IJiit they resolv'd by hook or crook, 

If ])088ible to ront Ihem ; 
Ye8, if they conid tlujy surely would, 

liy 8om(( means ^'ct without them ; — 
Th()u;^h they had not jind never had, 

l'i8tol8 or guns about them. 



68 THE women's congress; or, 

259. JUit be they naiads, nymphs, or fairies, 

Or be they animals, 
Or beasts of prey, or savages, 

Ciypseys, or cannibals, 
They should not come upon their farm 

To hold their carnivals. 

260. One balmy morn, when Sol's bright rays 

O'er hill and dale were beaming, 
As John went out to salt his sheep. 

In moody humor scheming. 
With nympths and fairies in his noddle, 

Of which he had been dreaming. 

3G1. The fairest creature was approaching, 
With light step and elastic. 

Plump and rosy as a lie be. 
With hat or flat fantastic, 

With modesty perch'd on her brow. 
And air far from bombastic. 

262. Quite dignified her motions Avere, 

Her gait was spry and sprightly ; 
On her approach she bow'd to John, 

Addressing him politely; 
Which caus'd a flutt'ring in his breast. 

She beam'd on him so brightly. 

263. Two such bewitching piercing eyes. 

Ne'er beam'd on John before ; 
And such a rosy countenance, 

And such gay dress she Avore, 
It stirred emotions in his breast, 

E'en in its inmost core. 



OLD MAIDS AND BACHELOUS. 69 

2G4. lie did not think of traps and snares, 
lie was so overcome ; 
IIo didn't attempt to drive lier off, 

lie was not quarrelsome ; 
For fear and rev'rence akin to love, 
Had render'd liim quite dumb. 

205. As she passed on o'er field and fence, 
John stood and gax'd and wonder'd : 
Is that a nymph he ask'd himself — 
He ask'd himself, and pondcr'd ; 
lie seom'd to be as much confus'd, 
As if he'd seen a hundred. 

266. Ah ! that was Hetty, sure enough. 

Hut Johnny did not know it; 
She had a splendid bran new coat, 

And she was proud to show it ; 
'Twas of the latest style and pattern, 

With tuck and flounce below it. 

267. And George hal sei.Mi a fdiry too, 

AV'hen he was going for water; 
lie saw her lurkiiii,'' near the si)ring, 

Iler curiosity had brought her. 
And George, had he not been afraid. 

Could easily have caught her. 

263. Had he but had his spectacles, 

And closely scrutinized her. 
He might have known she was no fairy, 

Aiul might perhaps surpris'd her; 
But she was dress'd in silk and lace. 

And her blue veil dissruis'd her. 



70 THE womkm's congress; or, 

269. Miss Molly ns'd to hang around, 

AVhen John :ind George were ploughing ; 
She'd dodge behind the fence or hedge, 

To see what they were doing; 
And then she'd peep into the house. 

To see the dirt accruing. 

270. She wish'd that she wa^ mistress here, 

The lady of the manor ; 
She'd keep all things more tidj', for 

She thought she was a planner. 
IIow pleas'd and hap])y would she be. 

If George would only win her ! 

271. She'd come some day and talk with him, 

For negligence upbraid him ; 
Perhaps she could prevail on him, 

Perhaps she could persuade him. 
How well 'twould be if he but had, 

A frugal wife to aid him. 



272. The farmers all around were busy, 

Some planting, and some sowing ; 
The wheat and rye look'd green and fresh. 

The apple trees were blowing: 
And nothing pleases farmers more. 

Than to see their crops a growing. 

273. Bat Ceorge and John could not rejoice. 

For good luck seem'd to shun them; 
Their rye was poor — in consequence 

A sadness rested on them ; 
Wiiere'er they went the fairies had 

Their rirgus eyes upon them. 



OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 71 

27-i. ISwcet creatures met them in the fields, 

Who tripp'd along so neatly ; 
Who bow'd io them so gracefully, 

And smiled on them so sweetly ; 
Which disconcerted all their plans, 

And turn'd their heads completely. 

275. Tiiey could not drive their cows to pasture. 

Upon their old gray mare. 
But some of these gay creatures met them. 

Sometimes one — sometimes a pair — 
Witii rosy lips which seem'd to say, 

Come /liss me ii' you dare. 

276. All round the lairies were abroad. 

And artfully enchanted tliem ; 
They must have wonder'd what it meant, 

Why all the spirits haunted them ; 
In ev'ry corner of their farm, 

The cunning creatures taunted them. 

277. I'oor fellows! now they had their troubles. 

Too numerous to mention ; 
Visions by day, and dreams by night, 

Distracted their attention ; 
They could not work as heretofore, 

So great their apprehension. 

278. Nor could they rest in peace at night. 

Though rest they so much needed; 
Their's were no common troubles, 

To be lightly pass'd unheeded ; 
No sooner was one goblin past, 

Than others more dire succeeded. 



72 J HE women's conqress; oh, 

279. They'd almost given up all hopes 

or driving thoin tiway : 
As summer udvanc'd the fairies grew 

More am'rous ev'ry day ; 
And bolder too, as if they were 

Kesolv'd to come and stay. 

280. They hold their pic-nics and their frolics, 

Beneath a gnarl'd oak tree, 
That stood upon a gentle knoll, 

Where CJeorgeand John could see, 
And hear their antics and their shouts, 

And witness all their glee. 

381. John was the first to notice them. 
For he could plainly hear them. 

As he was hoeing cabbage beds; 
But dar'd not to go near them. 

Although he ground his teeth and mutter'd, 
Yet he had cause to fear them. 

282. He hid himself behind the fence. 

He knew not what they wanted ; 
They shouted, scream'd, and laugli'd and sang, 

They frolick'd, romp'd, and ranted. 
And danc'd around the white oak tree, 

Until they sweat and panted. 

283. When overcome and out of wind, 

And llush'd with animation. 
They sat them down and wav'd their fans, 

To stop the perspiration ; 
And turn'd their eyes with wistfulness, 

On Oeorge and John's plantation. 



OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 73 

284. Then they began to chat and talk, 

Debating without order; 
Discussing ])hxn3 and schemes of war, 
As thougli on Canaan's border, 
About to take the promised land — 
This but increased their ardor. 

285, Had John but heard one-half tliey said, 

lie would have been aniaz'd; 
And George would in his grumbling Avay, 

Have said they all were craz'd ; 
For love and marriage was the theme : 

'Twas this their spirits rais'd. 

280. IIow shrewd some women are, and sly ! 

In strategy how cunning! 
They'll dodge behind the rocks and trees, 

Like sportsmen out a gunning; 
Or like a hound upon the trail, 

Exhaust themselves with running. 

287. In love affairs, in plans and schemes, 

Miss Susie is sagacious ; 
When talking on this topic, she 

Always becomes loquacious : 
Although on other themes she's mum. 

On this she is vivacious. 

288. She could put on a sober face, 

When occasion requir'd it ; 
She could be serious as a judge, 

Whenever she desir'd it ; 
But when the theme of love was up, 

IIow greatly she admir'd it! 



74 THE women's congkess; or, 

289. Her person is symmetrica], 

Not corpulent but portly ; 
Her speech is of the purest type, 

Plain English, but not courtly; 
A sailor could not speak more plain, 

Nor chip his words more tartly. 

290. Thus she began her sly remarks, 

As though she had been reaiding ; 
Or like a lawyer at the bar. 

His legal cases pleading ; 
Regarding not the clamor round. 

Nor interruptions heeding. 

Miss Susie. 

291. "To die an old maid is a sin — 

Do you hear me Miss Molly ; 
And to remain a bachelor. 

Is the extreme of folly ; 
But your chances for George are good^ 

Don't die with melancholy, 

292. "T pass'd by him the other day, 

A slow tune he was humming ; 
But he started up with great affright. 

To see a woman coming. 
As if some evil forebodings. 

Were in his ears a drumming. 

293. " I do believe you'll get him yet. 

You're winning his affections ; 
I hear you meet him out at times, 

(But folks will cast reflections;) 
Hang to him IMolly — that's all right 

And mind not their objections. 



OLD MAIDS AND liACHELORS. 75 

294:. " The other day when you stopp'd to drink, 
When that merry freak was on you, 

He brought a goblet to the spring. 
And sweetly smil'd upon you; 

But what he said I could not hear, — 
I know he did not shun you. 

295. " Old bachelors are liard to catch, 

'Tis true — I always knew it; 
But patience and perseverance. 

At last will bring them to it. 
I've got my fellow safe enough 

To jilt me he dare not do it. 

296. " Miss Betty, John's a sly old fox,— 

Do you see him yonder peeping — 
He's now repenting of his lot, 

He's tired of housekeeping; 
I'd like to see him baking bread, 

Washing, ironing, sweeping. 

297. " He has a weary time of it. 

You may depend upon it, 
Baking buckwheat cakes on that old stove. 

And frying bacon on it; 
He would be glad to have a woman. 

If he would only own it. 

298. *' While he is cooking he can't be farming, 

It cannot be expected; 
If he must spend his time that way. 

The farm must be neglected ; 
Don't you think he's overwork'd, — 

He looks fad and dejected. 



76 THE women's C0NGUE5S; OK, 

290. *' Yon recollect one ilay last spring, 
You pass'd him near those bushes; 

That was the time he was impress'd ; 
You charm' (1 him with your blushes. 

Ah then his heart went after you, 
With all sorts of kind wishes. 

300. "He was dumbfounded at the time, 

He thought you were a fairy; 
And he and George were quite alarm'd, 

Which was unnecessary ; 
And ever since they've been so crack'd, 

They cannot tend their dairy. 

301. " If I were you I'd go right in — 

Walk in take ofi' your bonnet, 
And go to work and cook as if. 

Your life depended on it; 
Go in take charge of the whole machine, 

For you're the one can run it. 

302. " Behold, there lies the promised land. 

That Hows with milk and honey; 
You and ]\Iiss IMolly take possession, 

And help to spend that money; 
And each of you if you have luck, 

May have a little sonny. 

303. "Embrace this opportunity, 

Now is your time or never: 
Then John and George will change their ways, 

And both become quite clever ; 
You need not fear the rubs of life, 

Your love will last forever. 



OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 77 

304. *' Tben if that house should be too small, 

You soon can build another ; 
Besides you can divide the farm, 

And still assist each other ; 
Ah! what a blessing will it be, 

To hear your children call you mother." 

Miss Dolly. 

305. " Why Susie you talk like a preacher, 

You are quite eloquent; 
But I think you speak too plainly, 

You'll make the ladies faint; 
Behold! they blush and hang their heads. 

But utter no complaint. 

306. " But ladies, do not be afraid, 

No gentleman is near us : 
Ah! wouldn't it be an awful thing, 

If John and George should hear us; 
They'd call us fairies then, I'm sure, 

And with good reason fear us. 

307. " Ah ! when you get those two old men, 

But won't you make them bustle ? 
And won't they have to stand around ? 

You'll surely make them hustle: 
But I would have a better house, 

Or else there'd be a tussle." 



John. 
303. " I tell you George they're getting worse. 
We've got them all around us ; 
'Twould seem as if the buzzarJs all, 
In this broad land have found us; 
I mean the fairies — they're resolved. 
Entirely to surround us. 



78 THE women's congress; or, 

309. " Oh that we could contrive some scheme, 

Some plan to get without them ! 
They're hanging round us day and night, 

And noting all about them; 
Some day no doubt they'll pounce upon us, 

If we don't try to rout them. 

310. " dear but something must be done I 

Their visits are unceasing ; 
AVhere do they come from, for I'm sure 

Their numbers are increasing ? 
Shall we leave the farm ?— I've often thought 

Of selling out or leasing. 

311. " Did you not see them on the hill, 

In their full force encamping, 
L'ke troops of horses young and restive. 

Their bridle bits a champing, 
Neighing, wheeling round and round. 

Shaking the ground with stamping ? 

312. " I tried to count them but I couldn't, 

Tliey kept coming and going; 
I tliought there was a regiment 

Their evolutions showing ; 
How many were behind the hill, 

I had no means of knowing. 

313. " I was afraid — I did not know. 

What harm the fiends might do me ; 
As from behind the fence I peep'd, 

A horrid thrill ran though me ; 
I durst not show myself to them. 

For fear they might pursue me. 



OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 79 

314. " Jf we could see the witch-doctor — 

He'd tell us all about them ; 
I'm sure he could devise some plan, 

Or tell us how to rout them; 
What a blessing it would be, George, 

Could we but get without them. 

315. " You know we've had bad luck enough, 

AVe've lost a Cotswold ram ; 
Tiie brindled cow gives bloody milk, 

Old Jewel's getting lame ; 
A turkey, and a goose, are gone, 

And the yellow chicken dame. 

316. "'Tis those sly fiends, have done it all, 

Those fiends we both detested ; 
I mean the fairies, nymphs, or witches, 

By which we are infested ; 
The pests — I wish they'd go away, 

And leave us unmolested." 

Ocorge. 

317. " Yes, John, I do believe you're right ; 

"Who knows how soon they'll scalp us ? 
The witch-doctor or fortune-teller, 

I have no doubt could help us ; 
We must do something, or the fiends. 

At one mouthful will gulp us. 

318. *' But how to see the witch-doctor, 

I'm sure I know not, Johnny; 
Old Jewel's in a dreadful plight. 

She's poor and lame and bony ; 
And it will cost five dollars, sure, 

Xot less — and that is money. 



80 THE women's coxgress; or, 

319. " But / would be afraid to go, 

And yet afraid to stay; 
And if you go they might catch me, 

And hang me while you're away ; 
They're hov'ring round like Yultures now, 

All watching for their prey. 

320. '' If they find out that you are gone, 

I'm sure they'll be about; 
Unless I barricade the house 

I cannot keep them out ; 
And even if I should do that, 

They'll burn the house, no doubt." 

John, 
3"21. " If you can't go, if you say so, 
I'll go myself io-morYO\f ', 
I'll try old Jewel anyhow, 
I do not like to borrow ; 
Yet if anything should happen her, 
'Twould break me down with sorrow. 

322. "I cannot stand this any longer, 
I'm getting sick and weary ; 
This place was once a Paradise, 

But now a desert dreary ; 
When mother liv'd 'twas never so, 
But all was blithe and cheery. 

823. "If we but had a woman here. 

We would not have this trouble; 

She'd chirp and sing while we were out, 
The smoke would rise up double; 

She would not mind the fairy tribe. 
More than she'd mind a bubble. 



OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 8i 

3'2i. "0 those were happy days you know. 
And no such ills befell us ; 
We're bound to do something at once, 

Our troubles now compel us: 
What's five dollars, the folks will say 
To two such rich old fellows ? " 
George. 

325. <' no, no, John, I do not want 

To have a woman near me ; 
For, all the neighbors far and near, 
Where'er I went would jeer me : 
Women are as bad as fairies, 
I care not if they hear me." 
JoJin. 

326. "I do not want a n'oma/i either. 

Except for our protection ; 
If she could keep the fairies off, 

I've not the least objection ; 
If you say so I'll get you one ; 

I'll make a good selection. 

327. " But let us not be wasting time. 

Arguing in this style; 
Just say the word, I'll get a girl. 

To stay with you awhile ; 
If nothing else she could at least, 

The weary hours beguile." 

George. 

328. " never mind the other sex, 

But go without delay; 
See the witch-doctor by all means. 

Be quick and do not stay ; 
But cover up your tracks, lest they 

Should catch you on the way." 



Si THE women's congress; or, 

329. Next morning early John was up, 

Had shav'd his grizzly beard ; 
And long before a gleam of light, 

In the Orient appear'd, 
Had fed old Jewel — got his breakfast. 

And the table-cloth had clear'd. 

330. But when he went to saddle Jewel, 

How great was his surprise ! 
She'd left a portion of her feed, 

Was down and could not rise ; 
It seem'd to him this had been done, 

To thwart his enterprise. 

331. "Some more of the fairies work," said John, 

" They've had her out all night ; 
There was nothing wrong with her at all, 

Last night she was all right. 
Now look at her panting and sweating, 

A pitiable sight." 

332. But John was notto be delay'd. 

He must be expeditious ; 
If possible he must be gone. 

The time was so propitious ; 
If he could but elude the imps. 

It wouW be so delicious. 

333. Though it was raining, he must go 

Before the peep of day ; 
With George's help he rais'd old Jewel, 

And rubb'd her down with hay. 
And started on a secret path 

Towards the great highway. 



OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 83 

334. But John and Jewel had a trounce', 

The way was long and weary ; 
It had been raining all the morn, 

The roads were deep and dreary ; 
And John was wet from head to foot, 
The prospect was nncheery. 

335. He pitied Jewel, and would not 

Fatigue the beast with riding; 
But led, or drove her on before — 

She needed little guiding; 
The poor thing being without shoes, 

Was plunging on and sliding. 

336. Though John was splash'd from head to foot. 

By this time he concluded. 
That he was safe from fairies now, 

For no one had intruded; 
And he rejoic'd that he'd at last 

Their yigilance eluded. 

337. And musing as he trudg'd along, 

And chewing his tobacco, 
Like a genuine Mahometan, 

On a pilgrimage to Mecca, 
He thought he heard a voice somewhere, 

Though it sounded like an echo. 

338. It was not light enough as yet, 

John could not see him fairly; 
"IIo! John, where now — to Baltimore? 

You must have started early," 
As John came near who should it be, 

But that old huckster, Charley. 



84 THE women's congress; or, 

339. John did not like his questions much, 

Was vexed but did not show it; 
'Twas nobody's business thought he; 

They only wished to blow it ; 
For he was on a secret mission, 

And wanted none to know it, 

340. Jewel was doing her very best, 

Yet wags and nags all passed her ; 
And John heard many slurs and jeers, 

Because he didn't go faster; 
And many innuendoes vile, 

Of bones, and lafJis, and plasfer. 

341. " Why don't he feed his horse," says one — 

" The old hard-hearted sinner ; 
A stingy miser he must be, 

An old close fisted skinner; 
AYhy don't he stop at some hotel, 

And give his horse a dinner ?" 

342. " That poor old horse won't stand the trip," 

They whisper'd as they pass'd him ; 
" That sack of corn won't see him through, 

Those buckwheat cakes won't last him ; 
'Twill take a week to get to town," 

And leering looks they cast him. 

343. It really was too bad — the way 

That John and Jewel were scouted ; 
The nags and wags look'd down and laugh'd ; 

The ladies sneer'd and pouted ; 
The hucksters as they pass'd them by, 

PuU'd oflf their hats and shouted. 



OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 85 

'.\\ I. lUit tiewel nnd John, went toddling on, 
Their scofTs and sneers unheeding; 
What was the use to mind such fools ? 

Tlioy had no hotter hreeding; 
Jolin did not think them very wise. 
With all their novel-reading. 

John. 
345. " lUit you have seen the day dear Jewel, 
When upstarts didn't jeer you; 
When no proud nag or silly wag, — ■ 
Could pass you or come near you, 
When e'en the jockeys on the turf, 
Had cause to shun and foar you. 

310. "And even now old as you are, 

You could show some light gambols ; 

If the mean fairies hadn't lam'd you, 
In their nocturnal rambles; 

By riding you like maniacs, 
O'er rocks and bogs and brambles. 

347. " Who ever heard of such a trick ? 

'Twas bar])arous and 'twas cruel 
To treat a poor dumb creature thus. 

So innocent as Jewel ; 
No doubt they would have burn'd you up. 

If they had had dry fuel. 

348. " J^ad luck upon those cruel fairies, 

That took you from your stable ; 
I wish you'd kick'd their teeth out, Jewel, 

And rendor'd them unable. 
As the donkey served tlic savage lion. 

We read of in the fable. 



86 THE women's congress; or, 

340. " I can't forget such cruelty, 

I feel for you, my lady ; 
No wonder you seem weak and weary. 

No wonder you are jady ; 
But I'll do all I can for you, 

Though I've done much already, 

350. *' I hope our evil days are past, 

And happier days are coming ; 
When we can rest our weary limbs, 

'Neath apple trees a blooming ;. 
To listen to the merry birds, 

And busy bees a humming. 

351. " When we shall no more hear or see^ 

A witch, an elf, or fairy ; 
Or see or hear of blighted corn, 

That's caus'd by winds contrary; 
Of midnight prowlers and assassins,, 

That waylay the unwary. 

352. " The witch-doctor will set us right,, 

If we do but obey him ; 
I've got some money in my purse,, 

And well I mean to pay him ; 
I would not cheat him if I could,, 

Nor will I e'er betray him." 

353. John told no one his business. 

And no one could compel him; 
Though unacquainted with the roads. 

He ask'd no one to tell him ; 
And some adventures did he have, 

And some mishaps befell him ; 



0LI3 MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 87 

35-i. For sev'ral times he miss'd the way, 

And wearied with the distance, 
Jewel, poor Jewel, went limping on, 

Yet offered no resistance ; 
And several times she tumbl'd down, 

And needed John's assistance. 

355. And ev'ry time she fell, it was 
More difficult to raise her; 
For she was getting weak and faint, 

And though John still would praise her, 
He must have thought if she perform'd 
The journey, 'twould amaze her. 



S56. They were not yet half way to town, 
So slowly they'd been going; 

And John could hear a murmuring sound, 
As if of waters flowing, 

But could not make out what it was, 
'Twas dark — the wind was blowing. 

357. They'd gain'd the summit of a hill. 

And now they were descending; 
John stopp'd — into the darkness peer'd, 

llis body forward bending, 
Fearing, trembling and wond'ring, 

What evil was impending. 

358. He fear'd some great calamity, 

Was now about to follow ; 
The floods were wild and frantic, 

The fording was not shallow; 
And m my an accident had happen'd, 

In crossing Wildcat Hollow. 



88 TiiK women's congress; or, 

350. Toor Jewel had to feel her way, 
And often did she stumble ; 
!Not more than halt way ilown the hill, 

She had another tumbli"; 
l^'or she was not as she once was, 
So sprightly, brisk and nimble. 

'SCO. There lay the mare, the noble mare, 

With nostrils wide extended ; 

No further could she go that night, 

Here her ilay's work was ended ; 

John iried in vain to raise her up, 

And all his strength expended. 

^{01. Poor .lolm was troubl'd and alarm'd, 

To t-ee poor Jewel lying 
Fo lii'lpless in the public road; 

lie stood beside her sighing; 
For ho I'ear'd and half believ'd, 

That the poor beast was dying. 

'M'Z. And linding all his efforts vain, 

Uegan his lamentation; 
" Jewel ! J ewel ! he cxclaim'd, 

In a state of desperation; 
"Where can I go! AVhat can 1 do! 

In this land of desolation ? " 

Joliii. 
;5G;'. "It grieves me to the heart, dear J.nvel, 
To see you so distress'd ; 
I hop'd when we got down to town. 

To give you two days' rest : 
The fairies tried to ruin you, 
They did their Vv ry best. 



()l,l) MAIDS AND I'.ArllKI-OK.S. 89 

3G4. " I5iit I'll staml by you lo ilu! lust, 
Don't think tlnit I'll deocivo you; 

You've (lone your very best, <lc;ir Jewel, 
And 'twould be wrong to grieve you, 

liy inattention and neglect; 
no, I'll never leave you. 

305. "0 if I had you homo again! 
I'd give you all you wanted ; 
Sweet corn, bran mashes, oits and hay, 

You never should, be stinted. 
And I'd protect you night and day, 
You should not beaHVont('d. 

3GG. " I'or many years we've liv'd, and vvork'd, 

In harmony together; 
And we were happy as two larks. 

With hearts light as a feather; 
We car'd for neither wet nor dry, 

Nor snow, nor frosty weather. 

307. " ^'ou were always ready for a jaunt, 

And it was safe to drive you ; 
The fairies' aim and ol>ject was 

Of all life to deprive you ; 
And now I fear your race is run, 

And I'll not long survive you. 

368. "0 Jewel! Jewel ! how sad 'twill be, 

When I think of returning. 
With the sad intelb'gcnce to George I 

what a time of mourning! 
And the fairies all around us, 

Our sad condition scorning!" 



90 TiiK women's congress; or, 

3G9. Poor John was all alone with Jewel, 
And not a soul to cheer liim, 

Jle thought that if he call'd for help. 
No living soul could hear him ; 

In his despair ho little thought, 
'JMiat succor was so near him. 

370. A geutlenian who liv'd near by — 

Whose wife had with him pleaded 

To rouse himself and don his boots — 
Now to the scene proceeded ; 

They'd heard a scrambling in the road. 
And thought some help was needed. 

371- He helped fo raise ]ioor .Tewel up, 
And oller'd Jolin a stable; 

Thinking, perhaps, a good night's rest 
Would render her more able; 

And urged on .lohu to take some food, 
At his hospitable table. 

373. Nor would he a^k for any fee. 

For he was always ready, 
To lenil his aid to man or beast, 

When tired out and jady; 
This really was a gentleman, 

And his wife a true lady. 

373. John was not sorry that he stopp'd. 
The night was dark and gloomy; 
The Hoods were roaring down below, 

The roads were deep and loamy ; 
And Jewel was well hons'd and fed, 
In a stable dry and roomy. 



OLD MAIDS AND MACIIICLORS. 91 

374. Seated before a good bright fire, 

John's clothes were drying on him; 
His host and hostess were so kind, 

They sceni'd to doat upon him; 
lie couldn't express his gratitude, 

For all the favors shown him. 

375. And they inf|nir'd about his health, 

And ask'd about his brother; 
And if they still possess'd the farm. 

And liv'd alone together ; 
And thus a pleasant social chat, 

They had with one another. 

370. In all his days, and all his travels, 

Whether on foot or riding, 
John had not seen so fine a couple. 

So gen'rous, so confiding; 
He heard no angry words between them, 

No bick'ring, and no chiding. 

377. John did not fail to tell them how 

The witches had ill-us'd them ; 
Though James and Jane were sober folks, 

The story quite amus'd them ; 
They laugh'd — they couldn't help but laugh, 

But freely John excus'd them. 

JoIm. 

378. <'Now, Mr. James, and Mr?. Jane, 

You've heard my entire story ; 
Would you advise me to go back, 

To live in purgatory; 
To be tormented by the witches, 

Who revel in their glory ? 



93 TiiK womkn's congress; or, 

37;>. "And I must try to rescue George, 
And from his troubles free him; 

] must Jind out the witch-doctor, 
For I'm prepar'd to fee him; 

And Cicorge will ne'er be satisfied, 
Unless I goto see him. 

380. " Perhaps you know old Dr. Wiseman, 

Who is well vers'd in science ; 
It seems all folks speak well of him. 

And on him place reliance: 
lie drives all plagues and witches off, 

And sets them at defiance." 
James. 

381. " yes, I've heard of that old man, 

lie lives down near the water ; 
My neighbor yesterday went down, 

To consult about his daughter. 
She disappcar'd — tliey couldn't find her, 

Though for a week they sought her. 

38:^. "Leave Jewel here till you return. 
Perhaps she will be stouter ; 
IMeanwhilc I'll take gooJ care of her, 

Don't fret yourself about her ; 
And you can go to town on foot. 
Quite fast enough without her." 
Jaur. 
383. " You ought to get a woman, John, — 
She'd drive away the witches, 
One who could make your shirts and sew 

Your buttons on your breeches; 
By saving all the odds and ends. 
She would increase your riches." 



OLD MAIDS AND nACIIKLOKS. 93 

384. Next morning early John was u\). 

But Jewel was no better; 
lie couldn't imagine how it was, 

Nor think wliat was the matter; 
Yet ho knew she would be car'd for, 

His host would not forget her. 

385. With tearful eyes and deep regret, 

He with his Jewel parted; 
And with his bundle on his back, 

lie on his journey started ; 
Reeolv'd at once to see the doctor, 

Nor have his purpose thwarted. 

38G. Quite steadily he trudg'd along. 

Though his shoos requir'd repairing; 

For the nods and jeers of those he met, 
Not one bit was he caring; 

Nor did he heed the many eyes, 
In doors and windows staring. 

387. Some time before the sun was set, 

In Baltimore he landed ; 
Not having met with one mishap, 

Yet his journey was not ended; 
Before him lay a weary search, 

On which his luck depended. 

388. All sorts of people mot his eye, 

I'lack and white, brown and yellow; 
And oft he heard the sly remark, 

" There goes a country fellow ; " 
They thought he was a curious chap, 

And scarcely ripe and mellow. 



"94 THE women's congress; or, 

389. From street to street he wander'd on, 

Casting his glances furtively; 
In hopes to find Dr. Wiseman, 

But seeking him abortively ; 
While Jews, Gentiles, and ladies fair, 

Were eyeing him quite sportively. 

390. In Pratt street, and in Harrison, 

He made but short slow paces ; 
He often stopp'd to read the sign?, 

And view the curious places; 
But no witch-doctor could he see. 

Among the many faces. 

391. The clothiers thought him giddy-headed, 

He look'd so strange and funny; 
One took him by tlie button hole, 

" VaJh in de shtove,frcnt Slwnnij, 
I'll sell you a coat so goot and sheap. 

As you can buy for money." 

392. " no," said John, " I want no coat. 

That's not what I am after ; 
The witch-doctor is what I want." 

" Vat," said he in a burst of laughter, 
"Deres no such cattle here my frent 

You vas looking for a rafter^ 

393. The Jew then sent him to a shop. 

In which were none but women; 
In which hung corsets, hoops and skirts. 

Gay ribbons, lace and trimming ; 
But when he mentioned wiicli-dodor, 

They thought he must be dreaming. 



OLD MATDS AND BACHELORS. 0& 

39-4. " never mind the witches, John, 

But buy your wife a bonnet; 
See here's one of the latest stylo, 

With flowers and ribbons on it ; " 
" I have no wife." " yes you have. 

Don't be asham'd to own it." 

395. " Then buy a necklace or hoop skirt, 

And give it to your lady; " 
" I have none." '^ Now John — don't tell a fib — 

No use to keep it shady ; — 
Well then wait a bit we'll find you one, 

Y^cs, here she comes already." 

396. " iVIiss Sallie let me introduce you, 

To my country friend Johnny," 
She with a kiss saluted him, 

And said 'twas sweet as honey; 
John did not know what to do or say, 

Their conduct Avas so funny. 

397. He did not wish to be uncivil, 

Nor did he wish to grieve them ; 
But wanted to pursue his search. 

And said that he must leave them ; 
But they begged of him to stay awhile, 

Of ennui to relieve them. 

398. ** don't go yet — sit down and talk, 

'Tis lonesome here without you ; 
You live up in the country, don't you, 

And have ducks and geese about you — 
if I only was up there, 

The witches shouldn't rout you." 



96 THE women's congress; or, 

31)9. Hut John was thinking of his troubles, 

These runklM in his head ; 
lie either did not nnderstiuul, 

Or heard not what she said ; 
For no reply lie made to her, 

And no attention paid. 

100. It sceni'd he knew not where he was, 
He never was in such a store ; 

Such finery and flashy goods, 
lie never saw before; 

'Twas like a royal palace, this. 
With carpets on the floor. 

401. "I'm in the wrong ]ilaoe now," thought he, 
'* Tiiere's no witch-doctor here ; 

I must get out, or the police, 
AVill i)rosently appear; 

If I had been aware of this, 
I wouldn't have come near. 

403. "0 that moan Jew wlio sent me here, 

That told me such a lie — 
I might have known 'twas but a trick, 

By the twinkling of his eye; 
If I could only catch the chap, 

I'd beat him or I'd fry. 

403. " He only sent me here, I'm sure, 
To get me into trouble ; 
If I could catch him out of town, 

I'd make the fellow hobble ; 
I wish we were in Wildcat Hollow, 
I'd bend him tiiroe times double. 



OLD MAID.S AND HACII KLOUS. 97 

404. " Whiii do I want with lincry, 

Wliat do I want with trimming? 
I have no use "for such fine things, 

They're only fit for women ; 
It is enough to bewilder me, 

And set my licad a swimming." 

4 )j. liut those gay ladies — five or six — 

Some plump, some tall and slender, 

Came round him with kind offers, 
Their services to render ; 

Though to each other they seemd uncivil, 
To .lohn their words were tender. 

400. Quito eloquently did they talk, 
Of the joys of country life; 
Compar'd with city business, 

IIow free from care and strife; 
Especially how sweet 'twould be. 
To be a farmer's wife. 

407. And didn't John want a wife, one asked, 

She look'd so cute and funny; 
She spoke all kinds of endearing words, 

And call'd him Love, and Honey; 
Perhaps she thought that John was rich. 

But she wouldn't marry for money. 

408. John might have thought them all in love with him, 

They sniil'd so sweetly on him; 
They secm'd to vie with one another, 

As if resolv'd to win him ; 
Had he been young it must have stirr'd, 

A gentle passion in him. 

9 



98 THE avomen's congress; or, 

400. Thus for some time, John was delay'd. 
These ladies kept on chaffing; 

And wlieii they were out of his* sight. 
They did their share of hiughing; 

Miss Sallie to conceal her mirth, 
AVas almost cliok'd with coughing. 

410. But John must seek his lodging?, for 

The night was drawing nigh ; 
Already had the sun gone down, — 

How swift the moments ily ; 
He turn'd his face towards the door. 

And cast a wistful eye. 

411. The ladies wish'd him not to go. 

'' Do stay a little longer," 
Said one and all. " J>o stay," said they. 

Their pleadings getting stronger; 
" AVe have plenty of meat and bread, 

To satisfy your hunger." 

412. "0 no, dear John, you must not go. 

Don't be in such a hurry ; 
'Twill be too bad to leave us so, 

We shall all be so sorry ; 
Do make yourself at home, John, 

Be cheerful tuul be merry." 

413. " 1 thank you for your kindness ladies. 

You know I cannot stay ; 
I must pursue my search, you know, 

Uus'ness calls me away ; 
Indeed I cannot stay to-night, 

I'll call some other day." 



OLD MAfliS AND IJAOHKLOUS, 99 

414. At length some customers cume in, 

Which stopp'd the conversation ; 
And Jolin had time to look around, 

And view tlio situation; 
The ladies talk'd so much, an<l long, 

He'd lost his calculation. 

415. " I must get out of tliis," thouglit he, 

" I dare not longer tarry ; 
'Tis dark outside, and cloudy, too, 

The sky's not even starry ; 
And I'm afraid tliose ladies 

]\[ay ask me yet to marry. 

410. "And who knows what, if I refuse, 

May come of their sly capers? 
Perhaps a breach of promise suit. 

And my name in the papers ; 
When r shall be the butt and jest, 

Of cabmen and street-scrapers. 

417. "And what will (Jeorge say, when he hears 

How these ladies have cajol'd me? 
He'll think tlie witches haoe me, and 

When I get home he'll scold me; 
That I should cover up my tracks. 

Was the last thing that he told me." 

41S. While all the ladies were engag'd. 
On customers attending. 
Exerting all their energies. 

Their fine goods recommending. 
"0 now," thought Jolin, "on this good chance, 
Is my escajjc depending." 



100 THE women's congress; or, 

419. lie bolted out into the street, 

And show'd some speedy walking; 
But once or twice he turn'd his eyes, 

To see if they were mocking. 
How glad was he to get away, 

From their incessant talking ! 

420. His object now was to find out, 

Some place to get his supper; 
He trudg'd along from street to street. 

Like some fatigu'd wood-chopper ; 
The lower taverns he avoided, 

And did not like the wpper. 

421. At last he found a cosy place — 

A place which he thought suited him; 
Twas in Old Town, beyond the Fulls, 

AVhere no one persecuted him; 
And farmers, hucksters, drovers merry. 

Familiarly saluted him. 

422. Next morning, John was out betimes, 

His earnest search pursuing ; 
As yet few people were astir, 

And little business doing; 
The Jews were not yet on the street, 

Their goods and wares reviewing. 

423. He thought his prospects now were bright. 

He had the day before him ; 
The streets were clear and unencumber'd. 

No hags and wags to bore him ; — 
The sun rose brightly in the East; 

The clear blue sky hung o'er him. 



OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 101 

421. He read the signs on either side, 
Before him and behind him ; 
If Dr. Wiseman was in town, 

As he dechir'd, he'd find him ; 
He'd leave no stone or sod unturn'd, 
Unless the Fates should bind him. 

425. But as the day advanc'd, he found 

As on the day preceding, 
The busy throng block'd up the way, 

His progress thus impeding; 
They met him or they passed him by, 

His inquiries unheeding. 

426. Some look'd at him in mute surprise, 

And some with apprehension ; 
Some hurried by on business bent. 

And paid him no attention : 
And thus his disappointments were 

Too numerous to mention. 

427. An old fat man directed him. 

To an apothecary, 
Who said he'd never heard or seen, 

A loitch or ghost or fainj ; 
But drugs he could supply him with, 

All that was necessary. 

428. " Drugs'' says John — " who ever heard 

Of such a remedy ? 
Drugs to drive the witches off: — 

No, no, — no drugs for me ; 
They'll never scare the witches off. 

No more than catch a flea." 

0* 



103 TUK women's congress; or, 

429. "I'was :i woniler John did not go mad ; 

A wonder he didn't swear ; 
His trials and })rovocations were 

Enough to turn his hair : 
Few men but would have been discourag'd, 

And yielded to despair. 

430. Not all the winks, and blinks, and sneers, 

And-'gross indignity; 
Not all the tricks upon him phiy'd, 

Not all the llattery ; 
Not all the disappointments drear, 

Could damp his energy. 

431. lie started on his hunt again, 

Adown the street he went, 
Talking to hinisell', and wond'ring what 

Tlic crazy people meant. 
'' I do believe they'll rob me yet, 

They have some ill intent." 

Jo /ill. 

432. " Dr. Wiseman surely must be. 

In this great town somewhere; 
And strange the people will not tell me, 

15ut send me here and there ; 
As though I were a silly goose, 

And all their tricks could bear. 

433. " The lying rascals, as they are! 

The thankless, thoughtless wretches! 
The proud (i entiles who swagger with 

Gold-headed canes and watches! 
But they're no better than the Jews; — 

They're all as bad as witches. 



(»I,1) MAIDS AND I'.ACIIIOLORH. 103 

•i.'J 1. " HuL vvluiL's the usu to niiiul Uic Tools ? 

'Tis only aggravation ; 
'I'lu'ir lying tongues, tluM'r black deceit, 

Are an abomination. 
It seems to nie they've lurMiM a ph)t, 

For my hnniiliat.ion. 

435. '•Henceforth, I'll use my eyesight more. 

And not so much my tongue; 
And I'll avoid the rush and push. 

The jostling of (he throng. 
I may lind the object of my search, 

As I slowly pass along. 

43G. "Those windows with blue bottles in, 

I will no more go near them ; 
There's no witch-doctor there, I'm sure ; 

They're quacks — I hate and fear them. 
And ladies fair in bomuit siiops, 

I do not wish to hear them. 

437. " Nor will 1 waste my precious time. 

With those old fortune-tellei's, 
Who hold forth in back alleys dark, 

Or in the low, damp cellars. 
lliey know nolhing — their object is 

To get poor peoples dollars." 



438. John wander'd on for several hours. 
Eyeing ev'rything around him; 

Through New Jerusalem he pass'd ; 
As yet he had not found him ; 

And now he passes through >Svvamj)oodle, 
Where many things astound him. 



lot rill'; womi'n's conokkss; ok, 

■\'MK 111' |);ish'(>s clmrclu'S, fjiclorii's, schtiols, 

MaiKsums, sloros Jiiul Iwilla ; 
Aiul trios l.o spoil ti\o fiinoy niunos. 

Oil tiwniiigs, iloors jiiul wiillt^. 
A voico is hoiiril mM'ds.s tho stroot, — 

11(> listoMS soino Olio calls. 

•110. " .lohii — ,h>liM -ho John — I'omo ovor horc— 
(\)nio hcvc u iiiiiuilo or iwo - 
(\)ino ovor horo — tloii't bo afraid — 

1 want to spojik lo yon." 
On i'ounws; oloso, .lolin foMiul ho was 
A ooiiiit I'vman ho know. 

•1 II. "(uH»d liu'k," s.ivs .lohn — how ploasM ho is, 
'Vo liiul A IViond so trno! 
\\c (oils his (alo in oonlitii'noo, 
Aiul I ho oinl ho has in viow. 
" ()." said his friond, " I'll tako yon (horo, 
I'm (>n my w ;iy I horo loo." 

•I rj. ,U>hn thoni;'h( (his was a "^onorons olVor ; 
It was aoooplod gladly ; 
I'or at'lor wand'rinj:; all day lonj^, 

Aiul hoiiii]^ foid'd so sadly. 

This was a j^roat roliof io him ; 

A (Vioiul ho nooilod badly. 

1 t,'>. How s(rani;t^ lo (oil— jnst down (ho stroot, 
A sijnaro or iwo, not inoro. 
Was soon in plain lary;o lottors brii:;lit. 
And posted noar the door, 

" 1>K. J.VUKZ AVlSKMAK, AsTKOl Oil KIJ. 

Ih" srviKS. i.v.v'v iivNP, iiiiKn fi.oou." 



OI.I) MAIDS ANI» l!A<;iM:i,()ltH. -105 

44 1. Willi Honio ^'ropiii*,', and Komo .sliimUliii^;, 

A(, leii^'Ui llicy (iixl tlio |)l!iO(! ; 
'J'lie doctor on Mic landing,' Hl.undH, 

And inoclH llicni faco to I'.ioc; 
Ilc'd licard thcin (!ornin|^ up the Btairs 

And /'(-(M'tH tlirin with a f^ra(;(!. 

445. " I'IcaH*} conic in,^'(!ntH, and take a seat." — 
"An; ijoii, the witch dmlur Hir?" — 

"No — I'm no witch-doctor l)iit I'm 
Thi! man you're. looking for; 

I'm an aHtrol()j((M', yon know, 
A fc;^; II lar profcSHor." 

•11'). .lohii th()ii;^ht lie w.iH a ciirioiiH chap, 

And yet he was polite ; 
Ills head wa.s bahl — 'hin forehead hif^li, 

His beard was nilv'ry white; 
His face bore markH of many vvintcrn, 

1 1 is ey(!.s were; dark and brifjht, 

417. With coHtly fiirnitiin! tlu; room 

WaH not HO Well Hiippliitd ; 
'TwaH of a very common jjattern, 

J)iHplayinj( little j)rid(^ ; 
A i)lain deal tabic, and some old chairn, 

Arran^'d on either Hid-. 

44M. Hut 8oon the doctor calJiMJ him np;^ 

Thia check'd bin olwervation ; 
\h\ needa mnat ^Mve his biatory, 

J I is name and occupation, 
.lohn tohl a plain nnvarnish'd lale, 

Without e(|uivocation. 



lOG THE women's congress; or, 

449. For years, he and his brother George, 

Had liv'd as mortals ought; 
But hitterly their phms and prospects, 

Had all to grief been brought. 
Some unknown power had marr'd their peace. 

And had much mischief wrought. 

450. John having told his doleful tale, 

And having paid his fee ; 
On a large blackboard upon the wall, 

By aid of Astrology, 
The doctor soon worked up the case, 

With unerring certainty. 

451. Letters, signs, and figures, he wrote. 

In a mysterious hand ; 
Hieroglyphics — which none but those 

Initiated understand. 
It seem'd as if the Solar system. 

Was under his command. 

453. lie turn'd his orrery around, 

As if he wish'd to know. 
The true positions of the planets, 

And whether high or low ; 
And the moon's track in the zodiac. 

If she was fast or slow ; 

453. Talking to himself in an unknown tongue. 
In which such sounds were heard, 

As syzygy, apogee, perigee. 
And many a stranger word ; 

Which would to some illiterate folks, 
Seem foolish and absurd. 



OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 107 

The Doctor to John. 

454, " You surely are mistaken, John, 

'Tis but a wild vagary ; 
I've no belief in such a thing, 

I never saw a fairy, 
'Tis but a myth — the term is not, 

Jn my vocabulary. 

455, "The creatures that you speak about, 

That caus'd you such alarm. 
And that have haunted you and George, 

In all parts of your farm, 
A.re witches sir — but never mind, 

They'll do you no more harm. 

45G. " If they should come about again. 
Their orgies to renew. 
Do not attempt to drive them off. 

For that you cannot do ; 
Make love to them— be affable — 
'Twill please them if you woo. 

457. " To keep them from your stable-door, 
Nail up an old horse-shoe ; 
Turn the heel down and the toe up — 

A rusty one will do — 
And Jewel can laugh and switch her tail, 
Defying the whole witch crew. 

458 "To keep them away from your house, 

In the cellar make two fires 
Of hickory wood and sassafras; 

And as occasion requires. 
Throw on old shoes, wet straw, and cobs. 

And also brush and briers. 



108 THK woman's congress; or, 

459. "In good green piistnre put your calves; 
This will increase their bulk ; 
And give your cows bran-niash and saU, 

Their hides will sliiiie like silk ; 
And 1 can well assure you, John, 
They'll not give bloody milk. 

■I (.!(>. " And feed your hogs on good fresh corn, 
ir you wish to have them nice; 

A dose of charcoal now and then, 
Will make them smooth as mice. 

Then if you wish to sell your pigs, 
You'll get a fancy price. 

401. "Again, to make your poultry fat, 

Cive them plenty of meal dough ; 
Mix in it chopped meat and pe]>per; 

'Twill make them lay and grow. 
Your roosters too will be so proud, 

They'll (lap their wings and crow. 

402. "That sack of money whicli you have, 

You must bury in the swamp, 
When the moon is in apogee. 

And the night is dark and damp: 
Cross two witch hazels on the grave, 

And put on it your stamp. 

463. "Don't you forget these rule.^, friend John, 
l^ut con them o'er and o'er; 
If my instructions you obey, 

As I have said before, 
Those cunning creatures you have nam'd. 
Will trouble vou no more." 



()M» MAIDS AND I! A (.'II KI.OIlH. 10!) 

4.<>l. .John Wiis well jjIcusM with liis success, 
And now liis cares wore o'er; 
lie hurried out without dohiy, 

Nor thought of troubles more. 
Was ever morial so ehited, 
Or e'er so l>lf'Ht Ijeforc ? 

405. Jle's now upon his hoinewurd truck, 
All cheerfulness and smiles; 
JIc passes iiucksters on his way, 
Nor stops to count the miles; 
lie finds his Jewel well and hearty, 
irniiarnrd by witches wiles. 

4C)i). He thuiik'd his host and hosiers kindly, 
And well he would have paid them, 

]Jut they refus'd all recompense, 
And all the offt^rs made th(!m ; 

•"Twas but a friendly act," they said;— 
A kind good bye he bade them. 

l')7. The hucksters did not i)ass him by, 
For Jewel was not lame ; 
►She did not hop and iiobble on, 

As she did when she came ; 
Young ladies didn't look down on her, 
With pity and with shame. 

■/o/in /() JcKU'l. 
408. "Pear J(!wel— I'm glad that you can travel, 
Without fatigue and pain; 
I was afraid you'd ne'er get better, 

J'ut always lame remain ; 
But never mind — the witches freaks 
Shan't cripple jou again." 



110 tup: avomen's congress; or, 

4G0. John thought of nothing now, it soem'd, 

lUit future happiness; 
IIow he and George and Jewel would spend. 

Their days in peace and bliss. 
Did he but know the happ'nings at home, 

It must his hopes depress. 



470. While John was on his fruitless search, 

Not knowing what to do, 
Almost distracted with his trouble>\ 

Fool'd by (^lentile and Jew, 
Disappointed at ev'ry turn, — 

George had his troubles too. 

471. Each week the huckster came around. 

With a sack full of money. 
To ask if George had aught to sell. 

Calves, butter, eggs or honey. 
Tills huckster lik'd a merry joke. 

And sometimes he was funny. 

472. "Ho George," says he, " I have some news, 

Some news that's worth reporting; 
JMiss ^lolly's coming round some day, 

To do some extra conrting.^^ 
But not a word of this was true, 

The man was only sporting. 

47;3. " She says she's coming to stay with you. 
Not for a few hours only. 
But for a week, or month, or year, — 

She thinks you must be lonely — 
She'll come to cook, and milk your cows. 
For she is stronsj and manlv." 



OLD MAIDS AND UACIIKLOKS. Ill 

474. Next dny the huckster s;iw Mis3 Molly, 

Behind her wheel a spinning; 
"0 now," thought he, " I'll have some fun, 

I do not think 'tis sinning; 
I'll tell her that George wants a wife. 

And he's a man worth winning. 

475. " John is tiway, George is alone, 

Now is your time to catch him ; 
Although he is a sly old fox. 

Yet you're the one can match him; 
Go over there and try your arts, 

.lust flatter him and watch him." 

47G. ]\[iss Molly took the hint at once. 

Left her wheel and llax upon it; 
She washed her face with toilet soap, 

And donn'd her gown and bonnet; 
And o'er the hill she turn'd her steps. 

Humming an old love sonnet. 

477. She boldly walk'd into the house. 

Where George was busy baking ; 
But he ran into the cellar, 

AVith fear and anger quaking; 
Yet 'twas not long ere he return'd, 

Still trembling and shaking. 

478. But he w.s grum and wouldn't say 

A word about housekeeping; 
Molly meanwhile went through the house. 

Into the corners peeping ; 
And then took up the broom and said. 

The rooms all needed sweeping. 



113 THE women's coxgrejs; oh, 

470. Tlioiigh Goori:;e protestod — 'twas no use, 
She help'd to bake his bread ; 

She milk'd the cow and stvain'd the milk, 
The hogs and chickens fed ; 

At supper time she help'd him too, 
The table-cloth to spread. 

•iSO. As yet she could not see that she 
"Was making an impression. 
But since she'd got a good foothold, 

She'd try to hold possession ; 
But it requir'd some tact, she knew, 
To bring him to confession. 

•4S1. Next changing her tactics, she ask'd 
Of him some aid to lend her ; 

And "would not he go home >Yith her, 
She'd no one to attend lier ; 

I'or if attack'd by tramps or beasts, 
Or ghosts, he could defend her. 

4Sv. As it was dark, (leorge was afraid, 
Yet did not wish to wrong her; 

He would not be afraid, he said. 
If he were ten years younger; 

So he agreed to let her stay, 
At least a little longer. 

•iSo. "0 now" thought she, '' now is my chance 
To do some 'extra courting; ' 

I cannot hope to win him o'er. 
By llirting or by sporting; 

But I will try to gain my point. 
By pleading and exhorting." 



OLD MAIDS AND UAClIEr.OKS. 113 

Miss Molly. 

484. And thus she spoke: " Now George, you know, 

You ciiunot get ulong ; 
You've too much work, iiiul too much worry, 

Ami ev'rything goes wroug; 
You need some help to do your work, 

You know you are not strong. 

485. "I always lov'd you, George, and still 

Love you as much as ever ; 
I take an interest in your welfare. 

And always will endeavor 
To do you all the good I can. 

And I'll forsake you never. 

486. ""\Ve both are getting old, you know, 

We both are past our prime ; 
In long courtship, and long delay. 

We cannot spend our time ; 
To wait and dally longer, George, 

AVould seem to be a crime." 

487. Thus Molly's heart was full of love, 

Which made her talk so sweetly; 
She did not yawn and hang her head, 

But acted more discreetly ; 
Her arguments had such effect, 

George was o'ercome completely. 

488. Next day the bachelor was seen 

With ;Molly in a carriage ; 
The neighbors as they pass'd, all said 

It was to be a marriage. 
To see CU^orgo with a woman aboard, 

'Jhey wonder'd at his courage. 

10* 



114 THE women's congress; or, 

489. Young men and maidens on the way, 

And old men too seem'd jolly ; 
They lipp'd their hats and bow'd their heads, 

And greeted George and ]\[olly ; 
But George did not enjoy the sport, 
And wonder'd at their folly. 

490. Miss Molly ask'd the way to Parson Grey's, 

And how far it was to it. 
While George sat back and hid his face. 

As if asham'd to show it; 
how he wish'd the day Avas o'er, 

For all the folks would know it. 



491. AVhen John got home he found the house 

All silent and serene; 
No smoke rose from the chimney top, 

No living soul wa? seen ; 
The house was in good order though. 

The rooms all neat and clean. 

492. " What does this mean," he ask'd himself, 

"And what has been the bother. 
O dear and liave I now come home 

With good news for my brother. 
To find the house deserted, and 

]Ie gone, I know not whither?" 

493. But Betty now comes o'er the hill, 

And as the house she nears. 
Old Jewel in the lane she sees, 

And John's loud voice she hears ; 
It startl'd her, at first, a little. 

And caus'd some doubts and fears. 



OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 115 

494. Rememb'ring Avhat the doctor said, 

John would not disobey ; 
He wouldn't attempt to drive her off, 

Whatever she might say ; 
lie wish'd to know what had happen'd, 

While he had been away. 

495. George and JMolly had gone away, 

She said, and her cheeks burn'd — 
She had been here and bak'd the bread, 

She'd clean'd the house and churn'd. 
And she had come to milk the cow, 

And stay till they return'd. 

49G. But now since he had come back home, 

And as 'twas going to rain, 
And he could do the work himself, 

She could go home again. 
She said he did not need her there. 

And she would not remain. 

497. John did not say that she should stay, 

Nor did he tell her go ; 
lie was not now afraid of women, 

As he was some time ago; 
But he was much surpris'd to hear, 

That George had acted so. 

498. The change in him since he return'd, 

Betty's attention drew; 
He seem'd more friendly than he was, 

He was more patient, too ; 
She wonder'd that he did not swear, 

And make a great ado. 



116 THE women's congress; or, 

499. Bat she, unmindful of his presence, 

And thinking not of going, 
^lilk'd the cow and fed tlie pigs, 

Nor did she think of wooing. 
But now and then she took a peep, 

To see what John was doing. 

John to Jeivel. 

500. *' Dear Jewel : wliat has become of George, 

We left him sound and well; 
He's gone away — will he come back ? 

AUxs, we cannot tell ! 
If he were here to share our joy, 

We could in safety dwell. 

501. " The witches now must keep away, 

AVe need not fear them more ; 
I'll nail this horseshoe up just now, 

Above your stable door ; 
Anil make a fire with sassafras. 

Upon the cellar floor." 

502. Miss Betty was passing by just then, — 

A smile was on her cheek ; 
She wouldn't disturb his reverie. 

But waited to hear him speak; 
At last he inquir'd of her. 

What had happen'd through the week. 

603. yes, the ice is broken now — 

She tells him all the truth, 
How Molly had come there to drive 

The witches off forsooth ; 
They borrow'd a carriage and elop'd. 

Like giddy-headed youth. 



OLD MAIDS AND UACHELOIIS. 117 

504. John seem'd a little vex'd at first, 

To lieiir what Molly had done, 
And yet he could not help but smile. 

When he was left alone; 
Instead of driving the witches off, 

ITer own witch-craft she'd shown. 

505. Though John for years had hated Iktty, 

He felt no ill-will now; 
She'd been so kind — had clean'd the house. 

And fed and milk'd the cow; 
They soon became as sweet as doves, — 

I cannot tell you how. 



50G. 'Twas after dark an hour or two, 
When George and Molly came; 

They both look'd happy as two doves, — 
Molly had chang'd her name — 

And John was glad, and Betty too, 
Was in a pleasant frame. 

507. They had a glorious feast that night, 

For Betty had prepar'd it; 
And Doll and Sue and their two men. 

Were there in time, and shar'd it. 
Beside the dainties, they'd tea and rum, 

And none were there who spar'd it. 

508. And Tommy and his wife were there, 

And children half a score; 
All were so happy and so full. 

That they could hold no more. 
That house in all its days ne'er saw 

So merry a time before. 



118 THE women's congress; or, 

509. Nexb night the Calithumpians came, 

(The old custom they obeyM) 
Who with their splendid instruments 

Some glorious music play'J ; 
The entire neighborhooi was arous'cl 

By the melody they made. 

510. When they were gone Betty says to John,- 

But looking rather shy — 
" How happy George and Molly seem ! 

And can you tell me why ? 
If two old souls like them can love, 

Why cannot you and I ? " 

511. Again, in that old house was heard. 

Ere long, a merry din ; 
Another feast, another frolic, 

Had drawn the neighbors in ; 
For John and Betty thought t'was time, 

A new life to besrin. 



51"^. And now the two old bachelors, 
Are bachelors no longer ; 
And in respect to womankind, 

Their confidence grows stronger; 
And frequently they tell their wives, 
They wish they'd married younger. 

513. John did not bury that sack of money, 

It was not necessary ; 
Molly and Betty took care of it, 

And not a witch or fairy 
E'er ventiir'd to come near the place. 

The women were so warv. 



OLD MAIDS AND BACHELOllS. 11& 

514:. Their pigs grew finer ev'ry day, 

Their poultry were not slighted ; 
They laid and cackl'd morn and eve, 

They seem'd so much delighted. 
Their rye and corn, and wheat and oats, 

Were not mildew'd or blighted. 

515. The cows gave good sweet milk again, 

As they were wont to do ; 
Jtwel far'd well — she was a pet. 

And was well tended to; 
Tl:o women always rode or drove her, 

To pay their visits due. 

516. In the appearance of the farm, 

A wondrous change is seen ; 
Tiie fences are in good repair. 

The hedge-rows neat and clean. 
In spring the meadows and the fields 

I'ut on a lively green. 

517. The hous3 is painted and repair'd, 

Both outside and inside; 
It looks so well that George and John 

Look on it with great pride ; 
They never grumble at expense, 

Rut in their wives confide. 

518. The rusty stove has been remov'd, 

A new one's in its place, 
Whose genial warmth and shining black, 

^Fuch admiration raise; 
The smoke ascends in graceful curls, 

As in their mother's davs. 



130 THE women's congres?, etc. 

510. They have a new and stylish carriage, 

In which all four can riile; 
And Jewel us she trots along, 

Seems proud and dignified. 
To see her harness, now and then 

Slie turns her head iiside. 

5v0. Days, weeks and months pass by in peace. 

The witches do no harm ; 
And unmolested George and John 

Can work upon their farm. 
When they come in the meals are ready, 

The house is always warm. 

521. And Betty has a })retty boy. 

The sweetest little creature ; 
And maids and matrons come to see him — 

You know it is their nature — 
They say he is John's very image. 

Like him in ev'ry feature. 

522. And now we leave old (Jeorge and John, 

Enjoying happiness ; 
In all their business atl'airs 

They meet with sure success. 
And they admit the luckiest thing 

Was that Old Maids' Conjrress. 



THE TOURNAMENT. 

■ -- • ■ ■ ■" 



i 



HEARD of chivalry when I was young, 
And many a tale, and many a song 
^p Were told and sung, of ladies gay, and peers. 
And gallant deeds perform'd by chevaliers. 

I listened to those stirring tales and rhymes, 
And wish'd I'd liv'd in those chivalrous tim3S, 
That heav'n had granted me the privilege 
To share the honoi-s of that glorious age. 

With zeal the tales of Robin Hood I read. 
And that brave band of bowmen which he led, 
Their deeds and gallant exploits I admir'd, 
With laudable ambition I was fir'd. 

The roving pipers songs, their minstrelsy, 
Their ancient ballads, had a charm for mc; 
While some proclaim'd the fame of Robin Hood, 
Or sang the songs of warriors brave and good, 

Some sang the fame of some courageous knight, 
AVho battled in the cause of truth and right ; 
Among their praises female beauty had its share, 
As all deeds noble are connected with the fair. 

They sang also in patriotic style, 
Of those heroic men in Britain's Isle, 
Who under Richard First such laurels won, 
Against the Saracenic ruler, Salad in. 

U (121) 



123 THE TOURNAMENT. 

Then those briive warriors who were not slain. 
Came home to fight their battles o'er again, 
In presence of the Eoyal family, 
And lords and ladies of a high degree. 

" What mighty deeds were done 
I^y those heroic men ! 
Such deeds the glorious sun 
Shall never see again." 

So sang the bards of other days, 
Nor were they lavish in their praise. 
For deeds of valor in a knight, 
In cause of liberty and right, 
Are worthy to be celebrated, 
And Avorthy to be imitated. 



Old Maryland may claim the honor. 
Whatever faults be laid upon her, 
Of having a strong sense of right ; 
Here, chivalry is not dead quite. 

E'en Tournaments, extinct elsewhere. 
In all their pomp still llourish there; 
or that fine species large and grand, 
Once found in Britain's happy land. 

I saw one with these eyes of mine, 
One that was really genuine ; 
None of the dwarfish sickly breed, 
But vig'rous, lively, strong indeed. 

New Market on one summer day. 
Had donn'd her Sunday clothes so gay. 
Had starch'd her ruffles, gauze and lace,. 
And smooth'd the wrinkles in her face. 



THE tourn:ament. 123 

Her chivalry were arm'd for fight, 
With spur and lance and helmet bright; 
On steeds of noblest mettle mounted, 
Whose deeds of fame could not be counted. 

That was indeed a glorious si<2:ht: 
A troop of knights in armor bright, 
As they rode to the field that day, 
Their brilliant exploits to display ; 
Succeeded by the Cornet Band, 
Far-fam'd and known throughout the land ; 
Who play'd their liveliest airs and best. 
Their silver horns ne'er stopp'd to rest; 
They seem'd to shake tlie very ground. 
The welkin echo'd with the sound. 



Now soon the contest was begun, 

A noble prixe was to be won ; 

It was a crown of jewels rare, 

For the loveliest, fairest Queen to wear. 

Those knights display'd such gallantry, 
Such skill and such dexterity; 
They flew like swallows on the wing, 
And scarce a knight e'er missed a ring. 

I doubt if e'er was seen before, 
In Gaul or on IJrittannia's shore. 
Or even in the Holy Land, 
A spectacle so glorious and so grand. 

The knight of Marmion won the prize, 
Which tlil'd with wonder and surprise 
The lords and nobles of the nation, 
And gain'd the ladies' admiration. 



124 TllK Torn NAM EXT. 

And now a shout oi' triumph rose, 
And liats went up from friends and foes; 
Hurrah for i\[armion was the sound, 
Bring forth jour huly to be crown'd. 



THE CORONATION. 

The crowning of tlie Queen, 

A soul inspiring scene, 
Fill'd all beholders with delight; 

She sat there like a dove, 

Beside her gentle love. 
Her courteous, generous champion knights 

The chaplain — if so call'd — 

"Was not an old man, bald ; 
But voung, robust, and sprightly; 

With voice distinct and knul, 

lie first address'd the crowd. 
And then the (^ueen, and maiils, politely. 

AVhen she received her crown. 
She did not pout and frown, — 

Like some rude ladies we have known ; 
1 saw her bosom ebb and How, 
And her cheeks with radiance glow, 

As she sat there upon her throne. 

And ev'ry critic must concede. 
That she looked beautiful indeed. 

With rings and ribbons, gloves and beads ; 
And each and ev'ry vanquish'd knight, 
SeemWall enraptur'd with delight, 

As they sat on their uiettl'd steeds. 



TIIH 'JO'JifNAMENrr. 135 

Ami of this (V'ronaf.imi, 

All sliowM their approbation, 
And pledg'd their fealty to their Queen; 

Not one dissenting voice, 

Was rais'd against the choice; 
And not a murmur heard or seen. 

Deny the fact whoever dare, 

That she's tlie fairest of th(^ fair, 
The noblest and tlie best of (Jueens ; 

And may she long tlie sceptre bear, 

And rule hca* subjects with great care, 
Xot rigorously, but by mild means. 

Three maids of honor, to(^, were crown'd, 

And styled the greatest beauties round, 
By those brave knights who crown'd them. 

I thought t'woulil try tlicir nerves a little, 

But no, they minded not a tittle. 
The gazing crowd around tliem. 

And now the ^rournament is past, 

'Tis hop'd it may not bo the last; 
But many more such may we see. 

The closing of the day is spent, 

In social sports and merriment, 
And not in rioting and revelry. 



T 



TO AN INTIMATE FEMALE ACQUAIKTIKCE. 

■ 

II Y should a youth so young as I, 
SP^ His skill iu rhyming jingles try? 
And why dost thou this task impose, 
On one who scarce the Muses knows ? 

However Miss, to try my skill, 

I will this painful task fullill; 

And as my thoughts dwell most on thee, 

Thou shalt, my dear, my subject be. 

Full well I recollect the time, 
AVheu thou and I the hills did climb. 
To 'scape the city's jarring sound. 
And view the scenery around. 

When underneath some shady bow'r, 
We sat and spent a joyful hour ; 
All care and toil were then forgot, 
^0 pleasant was the peaceful spot. 

then how sweet to hear the birds ! 

1 low sweet thy soft expressive words ! 
How sweet to hear the gentle breeze, 
Ivustling through surrounding trees! 

But autumn's most ferocious pow'rs. 
Deprived us of our peaceful bow'rs ; 
His chilly breezes kill'd the leaves, 
They fell like droppings from the eaves. 

(I'JG) 



UKTItlOAT I'ROM CAUK. 127 

And now calm summer's o'or and gone, 
And stormy winter's coming on; 
Alas! where shall we now resort? 
Where shall we find such pleasant sport? 

JUit why should we, my dear, complain ? 
Sweet pleasures we shall soon regain ; 
These storms of snow and chilly frost, 
In radiant sunshine shall be lost. 

Bleak winter soon shall pass away, 
And spring return in splendor gay; 
8weet birds again shall swell their throats. 
And tune their most melodious notes. 

And vernal flowers shall spring anew, 
And we again our walks pursue. 
And gentle heat and copious showers. 
Again repair our ruined bowers. 



RETREAT FROM CARE. 



S^SOW soft and sweet, this calm retreat, 
Wk What comfort here I find ; 



*,,'t .■„• 



'Ij'^ Wliat sweet repose this bower throws, 
0.1 my perturbel mind! 

What mortal man, or woman can, 

More pleasure find than I; 
Waen 'neath this bow'r, with gentle pow'r. 

My Muse I find so nigh ! 



138 RRTflRAT FROM CAKE. 

Unliarassod by tlu> yoll ami cry, 
"Which niankiml iiovor cease ; 

Vvcc tVoin all noise, how sweet my joys, 
^Vheu 1 can muse in peace! 

AVliile on iliis log, no tronbles clog, 
]\ry thoughts which rnn so free; 

Here I may sing, till echoes ring, 
Eeclin'd against a tree. 

lovely ]\luse, with rhyme infuse, 
This head of stupid brains; 

And thoughts that glow, and gently flow, 
Unfettered with chains. 

let all cares, of world affairs. 

All vanish in a dream ; 
And let me brood in peaceful mood, 

Upon my fav'rite theme. 

When storms infest tlie human breast, 
And c'louils and tempests rise; 

All joy and peace, are sure to cease, 
And ev'ry prospect dies. 

Yet soon subduoil, in solitude. 
The storms wliioh lately roarM ; 

All tumults cease, and sink to peace, 
And calmness is restorM. 

when this breast, witli care's oppress'd, 

(,>r angerc\l with feud, 
]\liil ]iassions llame, I still exclaim, 

How sweet is solitude. 



TO BANCROFT'S WEAVERS. 

pM^E lovely young s'l'ls, 
y^M Ye rubies iiiul pearls, 

Ye beauteous creatures divine ; 
]\ry thoughts I'll express, 
]\ry love I'll confess, 
h'or your features on me still shine. 

when I reflect, 

1 still recollect 
Your beauty, though I'm far away; 

I've not yet forgot, 
The charming sweet spot, 
AVhere girls are so cheerful and gay. 

charming sweet lasses, 

There's scarce a day passes, 
But often I muse upon you ; 

And oft in my dreams 

Your grace on me beams, 
And attends me all the niglit througli. 

But Avhen I awake, 

And find my mistake, 
1 sad and disconsolate feel ; 

Sweet visions then flee, 

But with cruel decree, 
Destroy all my joys and my weal. 



(12!)) 



130 TO A (HH.)r I'.TTK. 

k-'cMiiolimos lailios bright 

Appoar to iny si,!2;hl. 
Whoso bcjuiiy (luite piircos me through; 

Yet none can I find, 

f~>o gontU' and kiiul, 
ISo nuHloiit, so art loss, as you. 

had 1 (lio powor, 

^Fy mind I would scour; 
That suitable words I might cull ; 

Your merits I'd sing, 

Your virtues I'd ring, 
Hut ah! I'm loo slow and too dull. 

1 now end my lay, 
No more can 1 say ; 

The subject I now lay aside ; 

Vet ne'er can forget, 

ISo lively a set 
Of girls, nnatroctod ^^ith ]n"ido. 



TO A COQUETTE. 



jl^P^ll inaivlon I but the art fill glow, 
iA-''*^ ^Vhioh now adorns your face; 
■jj^'riie liiiery — external show, 

Which does your iier^ou grace, 
No more my foolish heart can oliarni. 
No more my frigid bostuu warm. 



O BIIANDYWINK. l'3i 

III vain your wilcliing smiles you cast, 

In vain your arts employ; 
For now tho (icklc clays are past, 

And now the time's {^onc by, 
When I, a simple beardless boy, 
Forev'ry coquette heavM a si^'li. 

And thongh you have a sounding chink, 

Of gold at your command, 
in vain you sigh, and nod and wink, 

And beckon with the hand; 
Too mu(;li I've; heard, too nnich I've seen. 
Too well I know what you liave been. 

Your gold is iiauglit but worthless trash, 

Your neeclii'ss liuery too; 
Pshaw ! what care I lor all your casii, 

What do I care for you V 
You've many Faults and notions green. 
Which all your nu)ney cannot screen. 



BRANDYWINE. 

W^ '^li^^'^YWINR, thou shining stream, 
WM 1 now return to thee again ; 
^IP And lind thee still in all thy pride, 
•*■• Rolling thy waters to tho main. 
Jiong may ye flow, ye waters bright. 

And n)ay your beauties never lade*. 

And may your (i.sh ne'er cease to swim 

Nor cease to flounder in tho shade. 



132 BEANDYWINE. 

Brandywine, I love thee still, 

I reverentje thee as one divine; 
And oft when all have sunk to rest, 

I muse on those sweet charms of thine. 
Oft do I dream of by-gone days. 

And scenes that never can return ; 
But when I wake my joys depart, 

And grief and care my pleasures spurn. 

Brandywine, oft have I sat 

Conceal'd beneath some shady tree; 
And heard sweet birds above thy banks, 

Chanting their songs of liberty. 
I was then in youthful prime, 

And nature then was in full bloom; 
But all ! such times have now gone by, 

And left with me a mournful gloom. 

Brandywine, oft have I stray'd 

Upon thy brink in cheerful glee ; 
And pluck'd sweet flowers on my way, 

That bloom'd so beautiful and free. 
Their fragrance then so sweet did seem, 

I thought there was naught half so fine ; 
But now the taste for such delights, 

Has left this wretched heart of mine. 

Brandywine, oft have I bath'd 

Myself in thy cool stream at night; 
And like a duck I swam about. 

Sporting myself with great delight. 
But Ave must part — my cheerful friend, 

I'll take of thee a long farewell ; 
And shall we ever meet again ? 

Ah ! Time or Fate alone can tell. 



SUMMER EVENING MUSINGS. 133 

Brandywine, I'll ne'er forget 

The pleasures I with thee have had, 
Till this frail body cease to move, 

Or in a shroud this form be cla 1. 
How frail is man compar'd to thee, 

How fickle are his works and ways ; 
But thou, an everlasting stream, 

Pursu'st thy course and ne'er decays. 



SUMMER EVENING MUSINGS. 



^jlsjjWiVS on one silent summer eve, 
^!^ When I began these lines to weave ; 
^W^ The hay-maker had left his toil, 
^ And trudging o'er the mellow soil 
Was hastening to his bosom friend, 
In hopes the night in rest to spend. 

The water wheel had ceased its rounds. 
The shafts and cogs their rattling sounds ; 
The shuttles then no longer flew 
Across the web ; the spindles too 
Had ceased their buzzing — and all din 
Was hushed, and still as death within 
That edifice, long, high and wide, 
That stands upon the river side, 
AVhere was not many moments past, 
So great a bustle, noise and haste. 

13 



134 SUMMER EVENING MUSINGS. 

Those lovely girls that late were seen, 
Each busy with her own machine, 
Had gone to this or that neat cot, 
Where toil and care were soon forgot; 
AVhere the mother prepares the urn, 
And smiles to see her children return ; 
All seemed to enjoy the happy hour, 
As under some kind angel's power. 

Not so wit!i me — my brain was rife 
With thoughts and cares of factory life ; 
And though I'd also left the thread. 
The buzz of cops was in my head, 
And being in a pensive mood, 
I longed to be in solitude. 

I car'd not for companionship, 

For I was sad and weary ; 
And while the old enjoyed a pipe, 

And the young were blithe and cheery, 
I rather chose to be alone, 
And with my own thoughts to commune. 

Silence, the Poet's noblest friend, 
From whom his best effusions tend, 
And by whose aid his lines are penn'd. 
Presided o'er the peaceful scene ; 
All wore a loveliness serene. 

High in the west fair Venus shone, 
In all her majesty alone. 
Until the starry host appear, 
To decorate the hemisphere. 



SUMMER EVKNTINO MUSINGfJ. 135 

On such an eve how sweet, wlien young, 
To make up some poor silly song! 
And e'en in manhood, joys revive, 
And contemplating minds derive 
Much benefit, much consolation. 
To spend an hour in meditation. 

Oft do I dream of by-gone days, 

"When scenes like this my soul did raise; 

A sovereign balm for ev'ry wound, 

In nat'ral scenery then I found. 

But ah such joys — to hope is vain — 

Can ne'er return to me again ; 

The joys of youth long since have flown, 

I feast on memory alone ; 

And visions of my early days, 

Keturn to mock me and to raise 

Repining at my present lot. 

Which though I strive I can repress it not — 

Reminding me — my peace to spurn — 

Of scenes that never can return. 

Attend my Muse my kind behest, 
Thy sweet protection I request ; 
Around my drooping spirits, low, 
Thy garb of consolation throw. 

Let no machin'ry's rattling noise. 

With hateful jumbling here arise; 

Nor grating gudgeon's screeching sound. 

Approach this spot of peaceful ground; 

No banging, thumping, crashing, shaking, 

Of power-looms jarring, snapping, breaking ; 



13G SUMMED EVENING iMUSINGS, 

No bitter pangs of cankered life, 
No petty brawls — no bustling strife ; 
These are the things 1 hate and fear, 
The things which make my soul so drear. 

Dispel all troubles from my mind, 
Let them vanish before the wind ; 
Lot me forget each circumstance, 
And muse upon the great expanse ; 
The vast, etliereal, azure sky. 
The hcav'nly bodies raised on high. 

Oft when the sun has gone to rest, 
In the vast Iris of the West, 
lUit left his golden tints behind. 
Have I witli rapt'rous joy resign'd 
]\Iy daily toil — my daily care — 
"Wliich oft ])rovoked me to despair — 
And wander'd forth in cheerful mood, 
To some wild spot in solitude, 
Among the rocks, above the plain, 
"Where peace and stillness ever reign. 
There oft on nature's works I've gazed, 
And oft their striking grandeur praised. 
The various hues the sky displays, 
The clouds and vapors in a blaze, 
Which charmingly ailorn the Wist, 
Then faithfully inspired my breast. 
Their brilliant tints, green, purple, blue, 
Contirmed my soul in rev'rence due ; 
Did charm my eye and captivate 
My heart, and tempt me to relate 
The feelings which they did excite. 
Of heartfelt pleasures — sweet delight. 



SUM.MKIt K\1':NIN(! ML'SINflS. 137 

O Muse string up my dull-toned lyre! 
With lively sounds my breast inspire; 
And in my sterile fancy raise 
Just estimation of their praise. 
that I could the stars behold, 
And planets in their orbits rolled, 
And all the fiery orbs on high, 
With pleasure, as in days gone by ! 

But oh my youth too swift has llown, 
To manhood I too soon have grown, 
And finding each succeeding year 
Fresh aggravating cares appear, 
With deep regret I now review 
The time when 1 to manhood grew. 

that I were again a boy ! 
Dreaming of innocence and joy ; 
Gamboling, frolicking, frisking, gay. 
Careless of anything but play ; 
And running wild o'er gaps and stiles, 
Or scouring plains in wanton wiles. 
Or plucking flow'rs with yellow heads. 
That bloomed upon their verdant beds; 
Or strolling by the rippling brook. 
With rod and line the fish to hook ; 
Or paddling o'er the roaring floods, 
Or seeking birds-nests in the woods, — 
0, all things were so pleasing then, — 
Kow diff'rent from the affairs of men! 

In youth, few cares our hearts e'er seize. 
But ev'ry trifle seems to please. 

12* 



138 SUJIMKK KVEXING .MUSINGS. 

F;iin would my mind from duty swerve, 
Fain would my memory preserve 
Each simple thought, each sweet perfume, 
AVhich did my youthful pastimes plume. 

Where's the man with soul so drear, 
Who does not view his youth's career, 
"With feelings joyous, holy, true, 
And would not run the race anew ? 

Yet otherwise our Fate ordains, 

Spurns all our wishes — mocks our pains. 

'lime, with resistless force appears, 

Consumes our days, our months, our years; 

To )nanhood youth becomes a prey, 

And manhood to old age gives way. 

All things are fated to decay, 
And man at length must pass away, 
Be laid beneath tiie earth's cold crust, 
To moulder into silent dust. 

"When musing on this solemn theme, 

1 startle as though from u dream ; 
Such thoughts as may not be expressed. 
At times are lurking in my breast; 

A meditative conscious blast. 
Informs me that I'm sinking fast 
Beneath the overpowering sway 
Of fate — and soon must pass away. 

But come what will, may I ne'er pine, 
But cheerfully myself resign 
To nature's never erring course. 
Until my being end its force; 



SUMMKH EVKNING -MUSINGS. 139 

Or till the Fates' o'erpoweriiig sway, 
Consign me to the silent clay. 

Then after their dread rage is spent, 

may I lie and rest content 

Beneath the ever-blooining turf, 

Or 'neath the billowy ocean's surf. 

^'^o matter where — to me what odds. 

Beneath tlie ocean or the clods ? 

There, may each grief — each piercing woe. 

Each heart-felt pang, and throbbing throe, 

Which sometimes sting my heart full sore. 

Into oblivion sink and ne'er oppress me more. 

Muse! thy gravest tone assume — 
The loud), the cold, the silent tomb, 
To which 1 have before referr'd — 
What thoughts embodied in that word! 
The final resting-place of all. 
The proud, the humble, great and small, 
To which all flesh is hast'niiig fast, 
To which all men must come at last ! 

Behold the city of the dead ! 

Yon lone church-yard before us spread ! 

What man can view it and not feel 

A reverential awe, reveal 

The story that he soon must die, 

And in that lone church-yard must lie ? 

We have some friends before us gone, 
And our own course will soon be run ; 
E'en now the fatal moment ncars, 
A few more lleeting, transient years, 
And all of us with things long sped, 
^lust then be numbered with the dead. 



140 BANKS OF CODOKU.-:. 

]5ut after death — what then — the soul survives- 
There hangs the mystery of our lives ; 
"We know not whither we shall go — 
To bliss, or to eternal woe. 

But then the virtuous need not fear ; — 
Happy the man who's lived well here, 
"Whose life has not been spent in vain ; 
For he may hope to live again. 

Now mark the man on virtue built. 
Whose conscience is unstained with guilt; 
AVith joy he liails his coming end, 
Meets death and greets him as a friend; 
He longs to reach that blissful shore, 
Wiiere cares are felt and feared no more, 
Wiicre he shall meet his long-lost friends, 
And dwell in bliss that never ends. 

Where's the mortal wretch so blind, 
AVho does not hope some friend to lind. 
Or relative, who's gone before, 
Upon that sainted heav'nly shore ? 



BANKS OF CODORUS. 



HOW pleasant to live in this lone little cot, 
With a bright lively prospect before us ; 

Where neither strife nor noise, disturb our harm- 
less joys, 
On the lovely green banks of Codorus. 



OLD FRITZ 141 

tliis lone little cot is a paradise to us, 
And comfort and contentment lly o'er us; 

We harbor here no sot, and sorrow is forgot, 
On the lovely green banks of Codorup. 

if strife should arise and our harmony disturb, 
Bright Venus soon to peace would restore us ; 

But strife we seldom hear, for love is ever neiir, 
On the lovely green banks of Codorus. 

S)mo folks pretend to say in this [)1 ice they ne'er could 
live, 

And the town's busy hum is more sonorous; 
Yet lovely are the charms, though rugged are the farms, 

On the lovely green banks of Codorus. 

surrounded by woods and lofty, craggy rocks, 
Where the birds twitt'ring songs are most canorus ; 

Here let us live and die, and let us never sigh. 
On tlie lovely green banks of Codorus. 

And after we are dead, let us rest beneath yon shade, 
And let old Evil Ilorney never gore us ; 

]iut let us rest in peace, and concord never cease, 
On the lovely green banks of Codorus. 



OLD FRITZ. 



iLD Fritz is tall and stout; 

sW lie has a turn'd-up snout ; 

Ip Long legs and toes turn'd out. 

A stranger fellow. 

With biain more shallow. 

You never saw before. 



142 OLD FRITZ. 

His hair is brown, 

And hangs straiglit down 

All round his crown — 
His forehead is broad and low ; 

His eyes set wide, 

One on each side 
Of what seems like a roll of dough. 

But as to his eyes 

Their color and size, 
'Tis useless to describe, — 
I'll refer you to the bleating tribe. 
His mouth is large, his lip hangs down; 
His beard is rough and gray. 
Which reminds one strongly of 

The animals that bray. 
His bf.ck is like the Indian's tree, 

So straight it leans the other way. 
His paunch is like a still 
When fiU'd with swill: 
But who can describe the nature, 
Of so wonderful a creature ? 

I come now to his mind ; 

'Tis fickle as the wind ; 

His freaks and foolish whim?, 

Are numerous as the hymns 

Found in liis well thumb'd hy.nn-book. 

What a giddy-headed soul ! 

One hour his thoughts are soaring high- 
Yes, higher than the sky — 

Next, groveling in a mud-hole. 

Of hypocrites he is the winner, 
For sure he is the greatest siini3r, 



OLD FRITZ. 143 



That ever kneeled before the forms ; 
lie stjics himself an angel bright, 
A saint, a guide, a shining light, 

To all benighted earthly worms. 

In short he bawls like a bull, 

When turn'd out to grass; 
He bleats like a sheep, 

Or brays like an ass. 
And as to grimace, 
He makes the ugliest face ; 

No monkey e'er could beat him ; 
lie opens his mouth. 
And stares north aud south, 

As if old Nick would eat him. 

Ills Wjfe. 

AVould you believe that such a man 
lias got a wife ? Yet he has one — 
A puny, haggard, wither'd creature, 
One of the oddities of nature ; 
The color of a pumjikin pie, 
Low of stature as old Fritz is high, 
And quite as shallow in the brain, 
And if possible still more vain. 
A mop of friz/.led hair rough and red, 
Eyes set in the top of her head ; 
A mouth all pucker'd like a purse, 
Of irritable temper, of course ; 
Gray beard upon her upper lip, 
Bow-legged and twisted in the hip, 
In motion rocking like a ship. 



144 OLD KlUTZ. 

Sometimes licr clapper goes ding-dong; 
At other times she gives no one her tongue ; 
But like Ji luMi in the nook she eits, 
IS'ursing her vvralli for poor old Fritz. 
Poor Soul ! he gets more than his due — 
Well might the hcn-peck'd fellow rue 
'I'lie lucklegs day when he did wed, 
Or night he went with her to bed. 
Would you believe that she is jealous 
or Fritz, the ugliest of all fellows? 
lias she occasion for it? O no — 
Yet no woman could bo more so. 

Whene'er he goes from home, 
As that he sometimes must, 

For necessity impels hin), 
But doesn't she raise a dust ? 
And doesn't he hear the thunder ? 
If not, post it for a wonder. 

Ills lIou&K. 
A heap of logs — a poor dilapidation — 
Which once had been a habitation : 
Some former occupant had liv'd at ease, 
Surrounded by sweet shrubs and shady trees. 
But Fritz and ugly Bets, 
Had no energy or skill 
To build or to repair. 

So liv'd or rather liiijcrd on 
From year to year. 
I'ut why should they be line or proiul, 

At such a lonely place ? 
For seldom did they see — 

Save their own — a human face. 



OLD FUITZ. 145 

Ills Kn'CHi:^. 
The ilirty pots and kettles 

Liiy all around the room — 

Which never saw a broom — 
For dogs and cats to lick them. 

His PKoaiONY. 
'I'lieir progeny— they even have some heirs, 
The bad luck of increase is theirs— 
Poor ragged sfiualid tallow-faces, 
The strangest of all human races, 
Unadorn'd by any of the graces. 

Ills Fa KM. 
-But Fritz has got a piece of land, 
Though 'tis encumber'd with a bond ; 
With farms it scarcely can be class'd. 
It's agricultural days are past; 
'Tis a wilderness'of stunted bushes, 
Briers, fern, poverty-grasp, and rushes, ' 
With here and there a sassafras 

Of dwarfish growth. 
Can he cultivate it? did you ask ? 
yes, his strength is equal to the task : 
Formerly he us'd to^drag the plough, 
But he is far above that now. 
A donkey would have laugh'd to see him, 

The task undergoing, 

])ragging,'pufling, blowing, 
While ]5e(sy holds and mocks, 

Crying, " Wlioa haw, l^VitzI " 

AVhile he poor soul submit?, 
Like a silly plodding ox. 

13 



14.G OLD FRITZ. 

Fritz ne'er was fated to despair ; 

lie perseveres, is free from cure ; 

(live him a batch of meal, 

It will so raise his weal, 

IleMl think himself in Paradise, 

^0 rich is he to enjoy a slice, 

And fearless he of ill or harm — 

But once more to his farm — 

lie still hoi)'d to improve it 

By bnildinga hog-pen, and now and then to move it ; 

Letting the hogs plough, root and manure. 

A bright idea — the plan was sure. 

A bright idea! yes indeed — 

But it produc'd him naught but weed, 

Instead of more substantial seed. 

lie at length abandons it and goes to work 

With Buck a yearling raw bon'd sturk; 

He makes a plough of a hickory bough, 

His genius ne'er did fail ; 
And for a yoke, he needs no oak, 

But ties a grape-vine to Buck's tail. 
With Bets to lead him by the horn, 
Strong hopes has he of raising corn. 
But oh, poor Fritz! Hard was his fate. 
His corn was wilted by the heat. 

And scarce an ear brought forth; 
The sheep and hogs broke through the fence, — 
Thus all his labor and expense 

Were lost, and of no worth. 

Now he goes to market with a sled 

Loaded with fruit — hoping to make his bread 

In this new station 

By ppeeulation ; 



Orj) FHIT/. I41J' 

And so lie may— we wish him luck, 
IJecause he has unconquerable pluck. 
All things prepar'd his home he quits; 
The next wo hear of our old Frifz, 
Is in the market among the sellers; 
The buyers make wry faces— turn up their smellers, 
And cast on him a roguish eye ; 
But none of his fine fruit will buy. 
Bad luck to you, d'ye want his fruit for naught, 
Which he has from so great a distance brought? 
At length a group of urchin boys 
Flock round— and each employs 
8ome trick to get poor Fritz's apples; 
One snatches some— and when Fritz grapples 
At the thief, another pulls his tail, 
And all attempts to catch them fail. 
'Tis thus they trifle with the man, 
Till all his stock of fruit is gone. 
He's nothing left but Buck and sled- 
Again " that I ne'er had wed." 

Well might old Fritz be vexed ; 

But what will he do next ? 

He's now upon his homeward track. 

Invoking blessings on the wicked pack; 

While Buck his steady course pursues, 

Kegardlessof his master's views. 

Till passing by a rich man's croft, 

He twirls and Ihrows his tail aloft; 

He smells the sweet, the new-mown grass, 

And being hungry is loath to pass : "" 

So starts off at a rapid rate, 

Making a rush for the open gate. 



148 OLD FKITZ. 

Pjor Fritz was in an awful way ; 

His rimless hat far in the distance lay; 

His locks were waving in the wind; 

The fragments in profusion lay behind, 

A troop of dogs came out and bark'd, 

And such horror in his phiz was mark'd ; 

You never saw a droller show, 

Pritz crying: "Whoa, Buck! Whoa, Buck! Whoa!" 

His wheelless vehicle strikes a post; 

Like a shipwrecked sailor on a desert coast 

Poor Fritz imagines all is lost. 

"Mein Gott," says he, "I'm killed, I'm dead;— 

How will my children get their bread ? 

?\'hat will become of my poor boy, 

Mein Yawcob, oh mein darling toy ? 

Mein Cott, to die so fiir from home, 

With none to lay me in the tomb ! 

I'm ftir beyond recovery now ; 

How shall I e'er convince mein frau 

How well I lov'd her, though she ns'd me ill ? 

How will she ever find my will, 

Which on the loft long since I hid? 

(^'Twas when we had a squabble, and to get rid 

Of her importunities I told her 

That 'twas burnt — and thus contioll'd her,) 

By which I will her my estates — 

Sly farm and all — if she can pay the debts." 

The story of Old Fritz's death, 

Was wafted far and near ; 
With lightning speed it flew 

To Mrs. Fritz's ear. 



Or.I) KKFTZ. 149 

Then such a dreadful mourning 

You ne'er before did hear ; — 
" Och, mein Friederich — mein Friederich — 

Afein lichcr Friederich, dear." 

liut Friederich did not die — 

Some kind Samaritan found him, 
Kill breathing freely and unhurt, 

With all Ills traps around him. 
His skull unbroken was, 

His brains were in their place — 
If brains he ever had any — 

No scratch was on his face, 
His eyes were in their sockets, 

For he cast a vacant stare, 
And ask'd the man who found him, 

If still his eyes were there. 

15ut Frifz began to groan, 

His teeth began to chatter. 
Which made his benefactor think 

Tliat something was the matter. 
His benefactor then, who prov'd to be 

A black man of some merit, 
PuH'd out a bottle from his poke, 

To raise poor Fritz's spirit. 
He sets the sled to rights, 

And puts old Fritz upon it. 
And starts him on his way again 

Not telling who had done it. 
Fritz dreams he's on his way to heaven, 

For sure he'd done no evil, 
When opening his peepers wide, 

Jle thought he saw the devil. 

13» 



150 OLD FRITZ. 

" Good Devil," says he, " for God's sake, 

I>jii't take me down to hell ; 
I never was a wicked man, 

1 am no inGdel." 
lie had not gone much farther on. 

When off the sled he falls; 
And Buck goes on towards his home 

Eegardless of his calls. 

I'nknown it is how long he lay 

In this delirium deep, 
When a painter and a barber came 

And found him fast asleep ; 
Who seeing he had got the blues. 

And of a grotesque mien, 
The one unto the other said 
"Let's shave one-half his head, 

And paint the other green." 
So with razor and box, 
They shave one-half of his locks, 

And half of his grizzly beard ; 
Then half of his face, 
And half of his pate, 
And half of his breeches. 
An I half of his coat. 

With paint are streaked and smear'd. 
Then they turn'd him o'er to the sun to dry. 

And left him alone in his glory ; 
And he really look'd fearful and grim, 

Like a tarred and feather'd tory. 

"When Fritz awoke from his long deep sleep, 
In great bewilderment and doubt ; 

To call himself a man, or beast, 
lie really could not make out. 



OLD FRITZ. 151 

He gaz'd around — he knew not where he was; 

He felt and fumbled for his head ; 
AVas he still in the land of the living, 

When he thought that he was dead ? 
One thing seem'd certain to his mind — 

For still his thoughts on goblins ran — 
'Twas plain to him he'd been transform'd, 

For he was not the same old man 
Strange metamorphosis, indeed ! 

He does not know himself; 
But 'tis indeed no wonder, 

lie looks so like an elf. 
" But I'll go home and see " says he, 

" Perhaps mein frmi can tell ; 
And if I am the same old Fritz 

Then all may yet be well." 

Old Bets and all her little brood 

"Were sitting round the fire ; 
The lean lank dog sets up his bristles, 

The little brats draw nigher ; 
When long-lost Fritz comes stalking in, 

Much wearied and outdone. 
But at the sight filTd with affright, 

All helter skelter run ; 
E'en his own faithful dog don't know him, 
But furiously comes running to him ; 
He flatters him but 'tis no use, 
.So Fritz is forc'd to leave the house. 

^'Well, really now I don't know what to say, 

'Tis not myself, that's plain as day — 

K 'tis I'm in another skin. 

For none will' own me, friends or kin." 



152 OLD FRITZ. 

Poor Erilz what will he do for sleep ? 
He £ces and nestles with the sheep ; 
There in the litter long he lay, 
Quite anxious for the dawn of day. 

He thinks the world is at an end, 
So long does seem the night ; 

And ev'ry move and ev'ry sound, 
Seems to increase his fright. 

The sun seems rising in the West, 

But all his warmth is gone; 
The stars are peeping through the thatch, 

At Fritz, a wretch undone. 

In vain he tries to hide himself, 

To shun their piercing ray ; 
In vain upon his hunkers, he 

Does stretch himself to pray. 

For 'tis no use all Bedlam's loose, 
And Buck begins to bellow ; 

The rooster crows, and flaps Fritz's nose. 
Which makes him roar and halloo. 

At length the day begins to dawn, 

And consciousness returns ; 
The blue-devils cease to gore him 

And peacefully draw in their horns. 

And Bets at length becomes convinced, 
That 'tis her dear old Fritz ; 

She takes him in for pity's sake, 
And all abuses quits. 



TO KEY. JOSEPH A. RAMSAY, XO. 1- 153 

And such a meeting as they had, 

Such waste of sobs and tears, 
Such hugging and such bussing, 

You hav'nt seen for years. 

Thus ends the story of old Fritz ; 

'Tis useless more to say ; 
So be content with this, kind friend, 

Until some other day. 



TO REY. JOSEPH A. RAMSAY, No. 1. 



mi^IIE city gents and ladies gay, 
^e^j Who dress in satins ev'ry day, 
^P May pass their idle hours away 
* In promenades — or visits pay. 

Perhaps they rise at eight or nine. 
And feast themselveson dainties fine; 
Perhaps they quaff imported wine. 
And on a downy couch recline. 

Perhaps at niglit they go to pUiy, 
Or gaming house across tlie way ; 
At midnight with an aching head. 
And heavy heart, they go to bed. 

lUit Joe, such habits we have none ; 
We are content with our homespun ; 
We soundly sleep — rise with the sun, 
And w'len lie sets, our work is done. 



164 l.lNl'N ADDKKSSr.l) lO TUK AUTHOR. 

Are wo not. lumpiiT at our toil, 
When turning up the mellow soil, 
Or gnth'rincj in our plenteous crops, 
Than audi viiin plea«uro-8oekini; lops? 

We envy not tlie ujillionaire. 
Whoso mind is racked with anxious care ; 
We've wealth enough— our wants are few, 
And we ean " row our own eanoe." 

Hui wi" at times ean take our jileasure, 

And eourt the Muses at our leisure; 

i-'or rural arts and rural tliomes, 

l>i ing happy thoughts and })leasant dreams. 



LINES ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR, 
By Rev. Joseph A. Kamoay. 



S|i^O\\ oltvu when tlio sun was low, 
sl^m~ W ith gentle Fan I've driven slow, 
'tp Along the roail anil winding hill, 
^^ That leads to Martin Ih-atheote's mill. 



That hour well suited is to take 
A survey of the beauteous lake. 
That guards the entrance to the hills, 
Wluvse Alpine pomp the vision tills. 

What makes the mill so i>eaeel'nl look 
Lnb'ring all day beside the brook ? — 
The one from fragrant meadows borne. 
The other jrrindiuir out the corn I 



LINES ADDRESSED TO THK AUTIIOU. 155 

Wlmt nuikes all nature's beiiutcoua luce 
Still lovelier, but our Father's grace ? 
"Pis this that eanctilic'S the pile. 
Where Martin's little family smile. 

No time he spends in what abuses — • 
He reads his books, and courts the Muses; 
He pours the llowing wheat from bags, 
And round the corn and chop he drags. 

Of hill, high-rising from the stream, 
'J'o kiss the morning's early beam ; 
Of rock that plants its hoary root 
IVIow the bed where torrents shoot ; 

Of streamlet's How, of leafy bower. 
Of frost-born lily, hare-bell llower. 
Of what the robust summer forces, 
His IMuse in pleasing lines discourse?. 

"Old Fritz" before our minds is placed. 
With droll conceit, in story chaste, — 
And so his comic powers prevail 
That one must laugh who reads the tale. 

'Tisrt lono s])ot by hillocks bounded, 
Where fox and hare have oft been hounded ; 
No doubt the space beneath the wheels 
The scene of many a death revealt-\ 

Where the dark night with starry eye 
Saw huntsmen through the valley (ly. 
With trooping dogs to catch the fox 
That sought the covert of the rocks ; 



156 LINES ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR. 

Where chimney-fire gives out its glow, 
And cheerful lamps through windows show. 
Here did the forest's wild beasts roam — 
Upon the spot — now Martin's home. 

And many an upland villa's site, 
If't could its history indite, 
AVould tell of quarrel and of feud 
More dire than any solitude. 

I turn me from the thought. Where blooms 
The sweetest floAver the sun illumes — 
Beauty and putrefaction wed — 
The mouldy earth by death was fed. 

In halls where lights and pleasures mingle. 
Where music makes each brain-pan tingle, 
Insatiate death surveys the throng 
And swells the notes of gayest song. 

If this be true that bony death 

Breathes on the happiest scene his breath. 

Mixes with air the element 

That from the darksome land is sent ; 

If he infuse on joyous face, 
Disease that robs it of its grace. 
And sad and slow the form assume, 
A constant progress to the tomb ; 

If still we know that every hour, 
Some friend is conquered by his power — 
This truth our musing souls should learn 
That death with life, must have his turn. 



LINES ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR. 157 

And if 'tis true that lie we must 
Beneath the valley's silent dust, — 
Is there no life succeeding given 
In the felicities of Heaven 'i 

Does nature sleep a sleep so sound 
When wintry winds are roaring round 
That from this sere and death-like chain 
She never more shall wake again ? 

She, when the morn of spring recruits, 
Revives in blossoms and in fruits ; 
But man^whom God's great angels keep, 
Fools sa}' — remains in endless sleep. 

Come, Martin I Let us step aside 
Where yonder brooklet's waters glide; 
See how the stream hastes to the wood, 
To join its strength with Bee Tree's flood. 

Xo drop that flows o'er rocks and fields, 
But a poetic grandeur yields, 
Still laughing as it murmurs on, 
Where Parkton's deeper currents run. 

For five years past, o'er hill and dale, 
I've sought this sweet sequestered vale, 
From Purkie's heights oft scanned the scene — 
The house below, the lake between. 

The mill, industrious night and day; 
The barn, new-built, that flanks the way; 
The garden at the mountain's base ; 
The waters hurrying through the race; 

M 



158 TO REV. JOSEPH A. RAMSAY, NO. 2. 

The back-ground packed with rocky steeps. 
Where moss abounds and ivy creeps ; 
Where spring unfolds her lovely store, 
And winter's saddest dirges roar ! 

And yet in five years' sauntering hours, 
By woodland, lake, where mountain towers. 
Few spots than this more sweets disclose. 
Where Heathcote's silvery brooklet flows. 



TO REY. JOSEPH A. RAMSAY, No. 2. 



^PAKE up, thou Muse, nor longer sleep ; 
.MMl Another song is asked of thee ; 
^r* So let us have it right or wrong, 
Without regard to harmony. 

'Tis winter now, and drear the scene 
Around our home appears; 

The songsters of the sylvan grove. 
No longer greet our ears. 

From base to summit of yon hill, 

No vegetable life is seen ; 
A sheet of white enshrouds the ground. 

Which late was deck'd in gree7i. 

The brook that late in merry mood, 
Skipp'd onward with quick pace. 

Is bound in icy fetters now 
And wears a sadden'd face. 



TO REV. .TOSEPH A. RAMSAY, NO. 2. 159 

But why should this onr minds disturb ? 

It is no cause of sadness ; 
Let thoughts of other scenes prevail, 

And fill our hearts with gladness. 

We'll button up our overcoats, 

A skating we will go ; 
Or in our sleighs we'll dash along 

Like lightning, o'er the snow. 

We'll pay our visits to our friends, 

And not forget friend Joe ; 
For if he liv'd ten miles away. 

We'd not neglect to go. 

Though in a mansion he resides. 

His wealth is not his care ; 
No pride, nor pomp, nor vanity. 

Can find a lodgment there. 

And what a privilege it is 

To have a friend so kind ; 
To instruct, admonish, and unfold 

The treasures of his mind ! 

O were I but with power endow'd. 

Could I but emulate 
The wisdom and philosophy 

That's treasur'd in that pate ! 

How few, indeed, are gifted with 

The powers which he possesses. 
That are not vain, or proud, or lewd, 

Or subject to excesses I 



160 TO REV. JOSEPH A. RAMSAY, NO. 3. 

But all the bad influences, 
By which my friend's surrounded, 

Can ne'er corrupt the principles 
On which his faith is founded. 

At times the minstrels, and the poets. 

Do occupy his time ; 
For he has climbed Parnassus hill, 

And well can spin a rhyme. 

He's travell'd, too, by sea and land. 
And much he's heard and seen ; 

And men and manners he has read, 
Wherever he has been. 

Besides, he has a virtuous taste 
For nature's works sublime ; 

High mountain peaks, majestic lakes, 
In this, or other clime. 

The thunders roar, the lightning's flash. 
The orbs that deck the sky. 

Have charms for him, and elevate 
His thoughts to worlds on high. 



TO REY. JOSEPH A. RAMSAY, No. 3. 



*-^- 



^*nAD I but the power to write 
Some sterling poetry ! 



"iy Vd dedicate a page or two 
To Joseph A. Ramsay. 



TO REV. JOSEPH A. RAMSAY, NO. 3. 161 

I may be thought presumptuous, 

For I am not a bard ; 
If like my friend I could compose, 

I'd spin it by the yard. 

Now, Joe lives on an eminence, 

Where he can see the sky ; 
While I live in a hollow dell. 

Where owls and foxes cry. 

And he's a man much honored 

In good society; 
While I am but a blund'nng wight 

Of humble pedigree. 

Yet, as the cricket loves to chirp, 

And sing his little song; 
►^''o I will chirp, though Joe may chide, 

And think my verses long. 

But he's none of those curious chaps, 

Unsocial and unkind ; 
He in the common scenes of life 

Can sweet enjoyment find . 

romantic scen'ry he enjoys. 

And lakes and brooks admires; 
E'en solitude has charms for him, 

And inward thoughts inspires. 

So come, friend Joe, and let us stroll, 

O'er hill and dale together; 
To see the fruit trees blossoming; 

So pleasant is the weather. 



1C3 lO JJI'.V, .lOSKlMl A. KAMSAV, NO. ;i. 

Ami iis Ave luisa jmioiig the fceiies, 

Uoinaiitic luul 8ubliino, 
We'll moral ixe on luunan lifo, 

Ami spill a vorso of rliyino. 

in ])assiii<j; over Sampson's lieii^lils, 
Wi>'ll view tlio lamlscapo o'or; 

'I'lu' brooklet, ami (lie little lake, 
Which we have viewed before. 

We'll visit too, that lovely s]>ot 
Where I'risk aiul l>raiuly playM, 

Ujioii that hapi>y siinimer day, 
As we sat in the shade. 

Kilt Krisk, that lailhCiil little do^r. 

His short cari'er has run ; 
\'et l>randy lives to tell his tales 

Of sports and p!e:isiii-es j;one. 

And now let fancy wander back 
'.ro days and scenes <j;ono by ; 

!?!omo cent'ries back when Indians roam'd 
l''ree as the birds that lly. 

\\ hen o'er these hills and valleys deep, 
The ])antini;" deer they chased; 

And with their arrows tipped with stone. 
They bron<;ht him down at last. 

I'erhaps near yonder silv'ry brook, 
The liulian woo'd his mate; 

Ov at that crystal fountain near, 
His love tales did relate. 



ro KKV. .losr.i'ii A. KAMSAv, NO. .1. I0;{ 

rerliJips in yonder I'oicsl dciisc, 

Tlieir council lircs iiroso ; 
I'crlmps tli(!ir wi^wuinH rciirM lJi<'ir IiciuIh, 

W'licro Hco Trcf^'H Hlrciun now llovvH. 

'TwiiH liorc tliey livM iind lov'd ;ind ilied — 

They buried horc; Uicir dead, 
\Viios(! bones perhaps an; niin;^f|'d willi 

The dust on wiiich \vc tread. 

So, when we've done with this world's care, 

Its toils and busy hum ; 
When these frail tencinenle ol" ours 

Shall tenantlcHS boconie, 

Our friends will lay us in the ground, 

Beneath the earth's cokl crust. 
And other leot unconseiously 

Will trample on onr (ImhI. 

Well, be it so — we'll Jiot com})lain, 

(Jr murmur ut our lot; 
That we must moulder into dust, 

Let (hat aH'cet us iiol. 

IWH let us turn our thouglits away 

l'"rom melancholy themes; 
This world is full of poetry — - 

There's lieauiy in tlu; streams. 

There's beauty in tlie blad(! of ;^nigs, 

To souls that are i-('(ln'd ; 
There's grandeur in I he orbs above, 

'I'o elevate lln' mind. 



1G4 THE TWO LITTLE DOOS, KRANDY AND FRISK. 

The poet need not want for themes, 

Themes beautiful and grand ; 
lie linds them on the boist'rous wave, 

lie finds them on the land. 

He sees them on the mountain height; 

lie sees thom on the plain ; 
E'en from the variegated clouds, 

Much wisdom can he gain. 

Tiien, lot us elevate our thoughts, 

A liberal taste acquire ; 
Let wisdom be our constant aim. 

And. virtue our desire. 

This is the true philosophy, 

That Avill disarm our fears; 
And will enable us at last, 

To soar above the spheres. 



THE TWO LITTLE DOaS, BRANDY AND FRISK. 
Written by Rec[uest of Rev. J. A. Ramsay. 



•A- 

li^lvIGllT Phoebus had just in his orbit rcturn'd 

J3P3 To Tropic of Cancer, so called by the learn'd 



I 



AVhen two little dogs both active and brisk, 



The one called Brandy, the other called Frisk, 



By chance at the grist-mill each other they met, 
Where, after saluting, both at it they set. 
They eyed one another with loving regard. 
Then had a long skirmish upon the green sward. 



THE TWO ]JTTLE DOOS, liKANDV AND I'lUSK. 105 

They tloubrd and cross'd, made circles and loo[).-', 
And all sorts of gestures, and motions, and stoops; 
They puird and they tngg'd, they sliovv'dtlieir white teeth, 
One moment on top and the next underneath. 

The cats and the conies look'd fearful and shy, 

And ran like young Dexter ■whene'er they came nigh; 

And the dogs ran after as fast as they could, 

And laui^hed like two parrots to see the brutes scud. 

'Twas thus they perform'd, and a jovial time had ; 
They hung out their tongues, as though they were mad ; 
Till Aveary and worn out, they sat themselves down, 
And had a long chat of the country and town. 

Quoth Brandy, "Dear Frisk, come give us the news; 
Of matters and things come give us your views ; 
You see some strange sights up there on the Pike, 
Strangers, stragglers, peddlers, tramps, and the like." 

Frish. 
" yes," says I'^isk, with a wag of his head, 
" Too many such fni.s/i, as I often have said ; 
They come along tramping by night and by day, 
But I do my utmost to keep them away. 

"They arc impudent fellows, and oft try to l)it me, 
And oft I Avould bite them if master would let me ; 
Dear lirandy, you know not how anxious I feel ; 
I never can trust them, I think they avouM steal. 

" IIow is it with you, dear I'randy, my friend? 
^letliinks you fare well, and a joyful life spend. 
With all things around you your heart could desire, 
Without care or remorse at night you retire." 



lOG THE TWO LITTLE DOGS, BRANDY AND FRISK. 

Brandy. 
" no, my friend Frisk, you are somewhat mistaken ; 
I make myself busy — I work for my bacon — 
The hogs prowl around with thievish intent, 
But I snap at their tails, and make them repent. 

"They run when I come — they boogh and they grumble; 
They squeal and they yell — o'er fences they tumble; 
You'd laugh your sides sore to see and to hear them; 
They watch me like mice whene'er I come near them. 

"You think I've no care — but 'tis nonsense to tell me; 
I've troubles enough, almost, to impel me 
To frenzied distraction — The gnats so ill-treat me ; 
They svvtirm all around me, as if they would eat me. 

"The flies, and the humble-bees, buzz round my nest; 
When I would take a snooze they won't let me rest ; 
I wish I could ily, I would punish them right, 
I'd teach them a lesson, and make them polite. 

" Then the skunks from their holes, their harbors, and 

dens, 
Come prowling around after night for our hens, 
The vile stinking things, I hate worse than a wizard ; 
They'd turn tlie vile stomach of even a buzzard. 

'•But hold for a moment — I've more yet to tell, 
Of a burly big mongrel, a mean infidel ; 
One day I walk'd up in a kind, friendly way, 
As I walk up to you, my homage to pay. 

"And what do you think — the big clumsy hulk 
Fell on me at once with the whole of his bulk ; 
He tore my poor hide and with consternation he fiU'd me, 
And I do not know but that he'd have kill'd me; 



THE IWO LITTLE DOGS, BRANDY AND FRISK. 1G7 

*' But just at that moment — 'twas lucky indeed — 

His master with whip-stock caused him to take 

liccd — 
lie bruia'd me and tore me — I feel it e'en yet; 
And such a base insult I cannot forget." 

Frish. 

" That ugly old dog, that gave you such a squeeze, 
I know him well — his name is Bully Keys ; 
A clumsy hulk, indeed — and that's no libel, 
A heathen, too — as sure as there's a Bible. 

" And he's a tyrant, rank as any dog I know — 
It makes me mad that he abus'd you so — ■ 
Because he's big and strong, he fancies he is free 
To worry little dogs like you and me. 

" But I know a dog not more than half so high, 
That Bull (coward as he is) would not come nigh ; 
I hope, some day, this friend of mine will meet him, 

it would please me well to see him beat him." 

Brandy. 

" Dear Frisk, I did not think by this narration. 
To rouse your feelings up to indignation ; 

1 hate to quarrel — and I'm no fighting dog, 

But I would like your friend to whip that rogue. 

'•I bear no malice and I'm no splenetic ; 
I hate a tyrant as I do old Nick; 
But who can wonder at his actions mean, 
Rais'd in the wilderness as he has been. 



Ills 'I'lli; TWO I.IT'l'l.l'; DOOS, JtltANDY AND FUISK. 

" Hiii l"'risk, wo' IV t;inc;ht to slum bud company, 
'I\) show 11 clojiii ivcord jiiul stiiiiiloss pedigree ; 
So let us novor more ussociato 
With that vilo dog, lest wo should imitato 
His iiiu'oulli matiiioiv-! and his boastly habits." 

rns/,: 
"I'vo oi'tou soon such haughty dogs boforo, 
But they wero highor bred than that old kxtr : 
I'd like to know why ho sliould bo so high, 
"Who has not o'on a riii/ on wliioh to lie. 

" lie noilhor is awati'h-dog nor a liuntor, 
Hut ho is ignorant and stupid as a (jrti iilcr ; 
Associate^ with sucdi a lilthy dog — oh liol 
llo's full el" lloas ;iiul lilihy as a sty. 

" Hut what's (ho uso it roally is absurd. 

On suoh a boast to waste another word ; 

Woi^ got (he iteh I've seen him scratcdi ami serape. 

And woi'st of all his faults, he worries sheep. 

" Hut master eulls me now — (iood-bye my IVioml ; 
We'll bring our lengthy discourse to an end." 
Well i)leased they part — and each one wends his way, 
In hopes to moot again some other Any. 



^^^i^^^^-^^ 



BRANDY'S LAMKNTATIONSON TIIK 1)KATII OK KKI3K, 
A Favorilo Dog of Rov. J. A. liamcny'a. 

VJOf)!? FriHk! (,h()ii;;li in lUc. priincoC lilV, 
;4-.ii lias left, lliis HC(!ii(! of euro and Kl.rilr ; 
tp No iiion; for iik! Ik^'II w.v^ IiIh (nil, 

No more we'll Hporl, o'er liill und (lah;. 

'I lie triicHl rricud I cvrr hud 
Id gone — and now how dn^ar and Had 
'J'hc hindsoapc! wcaiH a mourn fill h)ok, 
And Bad and lonely i.s (he. hrook. 

Hut tliis afreets nio inosf. of all. 
'I'hat ho )»y niflian hands Hhonid fall ; 
(/'tir3(!on iho viliain'H innrd'rin;^ art,! 
r.nl, oh — some (hiy he'll Ire I a Hrnarl, 

All nie how hIuiII I (!'cr snrvivo 
So great a Hhock I'm Kcaret; alive, 
I loel as if I too must go, 
I fear my grief will hiy me low. 

Yet whih; I live though few my <layH, 
My tongue shall ever speak his praise; 
ITis worth and virluf; from my heart, 
And memory Hhall n(;'(;r depart. 

1."' (KiH 



REJOICINaS ON THK RETURN OF 8FR1NG. 

■ -■■'■ m 

fMi^ilAlN bri^hl ii:itiii-i''.s clock d in grriMi, 
<*ISb Aiul vortliint bt-iiuty clotlu'S tlu> scone; 
]]^ Ai^ain iti)i>ii (ho hills luid i)hiins, 

Tlio Wiivinjj; ,u;r:iss trimnphiint roigns ; 

Aguin uiiou till' shrubs uiul trees, 

(^roeii loavos aiv wiiviiii;" in iho brooz-e ; 

Again swoot llowois raise tlioir heads 

And bloom upon their verdant beds ; 

Again sweet birds do ligblly rove 

And sing sweet carols in the grove; 

Again the catilo in Iho tiold 

Theniselves I'roni want and hunger shiold; 

Again the horse in wanton mood, — 

"No longer shivers I'or his food ; — 

lie siuUls, and snorts, and swings his tail, 

And trots with lleetness through the vale. 

The harmless sheep upon the hill. 

Are nibbling by the ripjiling rill ; 

And sjiorting lambs, while mothers graze, 

Are IVisking 'mid the sunny rays. 

The turkeys, too, a num'rons train, 

Are strutting o'er the grassy plain ; 

All led by craving appetite, 

Devouring insects with delight. 

The streams now mildly How along, 

Exulting in thoir peaceful song; 



(v;o) 



ON r\lE INIMAN.-'. 171 

On wings of rrt'cJoin lit,'litly home, 

No more in icy chains tlioy mourn. 

No nioro ;;rini winter tcrrilies 

Tho bee, that Ironi iiis prison llics; 

All blooms and buds siie kindly greets. 

And kissing tlicni, extracts tlieir sweets. 

'The butter ily in gay attire 

Now spreads its wings with sweet desire; 

Vv()\\\ llow'r to flow'r it lightly flees, 

And llutUu's in tlu; zephyr bree/e. 

The puny insects on the wing, 

With pleasure hail the sweets of Spring; 

In clouds and swarms they fill tho air, 

And sweetly do they revel there. 

Jn short, all living creatures burn 

"With joy to see sweet Spring return ; 

Save jnan, who from his Kinful nature, 

l*oor, frail, undone and wretched creature ; 

No solid comfort does he know. 

Nor lasting happiness below. 



ON THE INDIANS. 

jHlgiaj SAD is the tale, and mournnil the lay, 
^ftS^ That a race so iiobh; are passing away I 
fp They're going to tlieii- homes — 3carce a r^-iiiiiant 

remains 
Of thaL race that once roamVl o'er these mountains and 

{)laiiip. 



172 ON Tin-: INDIANS. 

0, could sonic Indian bnivc, 

liise up from the grave, 
Some chioCtain or sachem that live! long ajo, 

With ■wisdom endowed, 

lnde]KMulent and proud ; 
Wluit facts coukl he tell and what feats could he show ! 

i[ow surprised would he be, 

What a change would he see 
.Bn the land of his kindred and race ; 

What a tale could he tell 

Of the fate that betel 
Tlie braves that once led in the battle or chase! 

With what interest we'd listen, 

And eee his eyes glisten, 
When relating true tales of (he past; 

And the joys unexpressed. 

That once were ]iossessed, 
By the tribes that inhabited this country so vast I 

From the North to the South, 

From the source to the mouth 
Of all the great rivers then unpolluted; 

From the East to the West, 

The Indian possessed 
Ivery foot of the land undi^put'il. 

IT is head was erect. 

His ardor uncheck'd ; 
He feared not the face of a friend or a foe ; 

The beasts he allurM, — 

His food was procureil, 
9>y the sure steady aim oC his be \v. 



OK TlIK INDIANS. 173 

If his squaw and papoose 

(iot woary ol" moose, 
Anl desired u more delicate dish ; 

Away would he haste 

Through the forest and waste, 
To the water to catch them some lish. 

How his bosom would bum, 

When on his return, 
With the fruits of his labor or sport. 

His equaw cam-i to mx't him 

And lovingly greet him, 
O'erjoyed at his cheering report. 

O, each was a lord 

In one sense of the worJ, 
But without the insignia of power ; 

No monarchs had they 

With unlimited sway, 
To sit on a throne and their substance devour. 

In the forests they hunted. 

And found what they wanted; 
In their wigwams they slumbered at night, 

Un harassed with sorrow, 

And cares of the morrow ; 
For their hopes and their prospects were bright. 

Though sometimes grim war. 

Would call them afar. 
Yet they looked upon this as but glory; 

And if they should die. 

They breathed not a sigh, 
For they firmly believed in the story, 



174 ONf THE INDIANS. 

Tliiit hcyoiid tlie blue wave, 

Prepared for the brave, 
Was an island with game in great store, 

AVhere the Urcat 8})irit dwelt, 

Where want was ne'er lelt. 
And wars and eonunotions would ojipress them no more. 

lint oh ! as they say, 

There eanio a dark ilay. 
And the hail and the lightning beat on them ; 

'JMiey dwinilU'd away, 

Like the dying ol" day, — 
Distress, destiuetion and death came upon then). 

Kow tluir hearts are depressed, 

And tlu'ir souls are distressed, 
As the While JMan appioaelies still nigh ; 

They see their sad doom. 

In the darkness and gloom, 
When clouils come together and darken the sky. 

Ah I well nniy they sigh 

For the days gone by, 
Ere the Whites came acrois the great sea; 

When the lied Alan's leign, 

On mountain and plain, 
Fx'ended its sway o'er the bravo and the free. 

'J'hese vales and these mountains. 

These brooks and these fountains, 
Could they speak in an audible tone; 

They would discourse upon 

The scenes that are gone. 
When the Indiana ruled here alone. 



ON TllK INDIANS. 175 

Tliose cities of ours, 

OF their weult.li ami llicir powers, 
And refinement and wisdom may boast ; 

These churclit'S and .schools, 

With lheiretliic;il riilrs, 
Know not wiiaL the Indians liave lost. 

Ah ! soon they'll he ^one, — 

Of the race not one 
Will be left to relate the sad tale ; 

Then historians will say 

The Ked Men passed away, 
Like the leaves swept away in a gale. 

I'L'rhaps 'twill Iju said, 

'Tis well they are dead, 
That their barbarous customs should cease ; 

They defied our laws, 

Made war without cause, — 
They would'nt live in amity and peace. 

And children yet unborn 

Will lisp their name in scorn, 
"Without doubting or disputing the story ; 

And exultingly will boast, 

That all the heathen host. 
Fell victims to tlu-ir own thirst for glory. 

No monuments will rear, 

Their heads high in the air. 
As memorials of this fallen race; 

Their graves will be unknown. 

With not a stump or stone, 
Or slab, or tablet to designate the place. 



176 



1 1,1- lU'Y A l''AKM. 



No Iviiidi-rd will he IrCl, 

To moiini wilh iho beivl't; 
No sympjidii/iii!; IViciuls to sluirc lluMr j^ricf; 

No ornlor ((» Icll, 

1 low ^^lorioiisl V tlicy Icll, 
Til tlicir husl s(nini;U' for tln'ir r;iinilitv>4 niul cliii'f. 

^Vllll(. liistoiuui will I'ViT 

Hi" HO ii;iM\('roiis uiul clever, 
Tiicif virliuvs Mini brave deeds (o rehearse? 

No I loiner will appear, 

()!' genius bright and rare. 
To fliaiii llieir praises in lieroii* verse. 



I'LL ^^UV A FARM. 



11' 



t 



IM cock with shrill Ihongh ehetM-fiil lay 
Proehiinis (he near approach of day ; 
Wliilo yet i:;ray twilight's spread iirouiul. 
While yet the moisture I'lotlu^s the i;rontnl 

\VhiK> Yt"l the snn tlu> kin;:,' ot" day, 
Has ventnr'd not to show his ray; 
While Y«'l tht> sln<:;L:;ard siu>rin<; sleeps, 
This watehtnl erealnre vii:;ils ket^ps. 

J, list'niiii;', raise my slni:;<;ish head. 
Shake oil' my slnmbers — leavi> my bed ; 
And Avaniler forth to lake mv ease, 
Andsnnirthe fragrant mornini;- breeze. 



I'jJ. IIUY A KAUM. 177 

Tin wooilinun'H n.\(^ rcikIh loitli ji Hoiitnl. 
stroke iilirr stroke echoes uroiiiul ; 
The forest trembling iit eiicli ntroki', 
Cras'i ! fall the liiokory mid Uut onk. 

There goes the thrasher with liis Ihiil, 
His (log behiiiil liiin wags his tail ; 
The whisiiiiig teMiinlcr on I Ik- load, 
Is l)Oiiii(l to market with lii.s hci/I. 

The. fanner's siii'e, a liappy man, 
I'll l)ny a fiirm soon as 1 ean ; 
I'll live an indejiendent life, 
And ((iiit the noisy fact'rys strife. 

VAIN WAG THK HOPE, 

Vain WHS the hope, illiiHivc wu.s the charm; 

l<'or itidependence sake I honglit a farm ; — 

Farm did i say — 'Tis hardly worth the mime, 

'Tis hut a piece of gi'oiin<l that's neither wild nor tame. 

I've got two rugged, stony, briery hills; 

I've got live; lippling, limpid, purling rills; 

I've got a mead that's lialf-grown o'er with bushes, 

And rather swampy, and produces rushes; 

Three orchards, though some (jf the trees ai(! rotten, 

<) i)shaw ! I cannot tell the half I've gott<M) : 

I've got a good old horfie, whose name is < 'barley, 

Who eats fodder, champs corn, or oats, or hai'ley, 

Until his hips and ribs show through his liide, 

Like barrel-hoops protruding on each side. 

IJesidc I've got a filly, sleek and fat, 

fihap'd lik"' a mule, and eolortd like; a lat. 



1 rs 



TO .1. S. KOIilNSOX. 



Hut lot 1110 goo -I'vo u)iiio(liiii,i;" iiioro lo loll, 
I'vo everYtliini:^ to buy ami niiuglit to soil ; 
I've liirM oUl Horj:: Myor (tluit tjikoa my brnss) 
Who sits on (■liarloy liko Miiliommod on an ass. 

CUMMK.rt LOrGK. 

J'vo spoilt livo yours at l^iimiuor Tah1!:;o, 

As laimoti as a iiiisor ; 
I'vo tufryoii hard from year to yoar, 

I'm not Olio whit tlio wisiv. 

Ami what my gains, for all my jiaiiis? 

Hut do not talk of snoli — 
I'm poor ill mind, I'm pimr in pnrso ; — 

Who oould oiuluro so niuoli ? 



TO J. S. ROBINSON, 
About My Farm. 



^ 8'rild, am liviiii; on this riii:;<;od farm ; 

^ Hut Snmmor ljodi:;o bogiiis to woar a charm ; 

'IP I'vo made soiiio slis^ht improvomonts horo and 

^^ thoro; 

I'vo olovor on tlio hills that oiico woro bare; 
I'vo ditohoil my moadow, draiiiod tlio swamps and boge, 
Which harbor'd lizirJs, tadpolos, snakos and frogs. 

1 now havo gtil soiiio littlo grain io thnisli ; 
My sti>ok's inoroasiiig, growing into oash ; — 
Hut what's tlio uso of C(rs!i boliind tlio plough ':* 
With that. I havo but littlo troublo now ; 
Mv barn is full, almost to vnorllowiiig. 
And othor crops luxuriantly aro growing. 



ADDKKSS 'lO I'A lU.MOtlN'l'. 179 

HiiL wluiL 11 i)iLy, I've (;uL down l-lie IjiihIich, 

And left no hIuuIc for hliickbirdH, Jays and tliruslics; 

MV'ii the opoBHiini and tlio Hly raccoon, 

Discnss llie propriety of leavinj^, Hoon ; 

IJnt, lian^ them, let tlieni go to 8atan'H denH, 

YvH, \\nu<^ lliciii all, llicy steal my (IiicKh and iiciis. 

Tile rii'L^ro lliat I hind lian inn away, 

Hut what caie I, I'll liav(! no ont; to pay; 

Jn short, the Hoythe, the harrow and tjje plongh, 

Knga<,'o the moat of my attention now ; 

So Unit's the way we do at Sinntner Jiodge, 

]''arewell, old friend, farewell — 1*11 make a dodge. 



ADDRESS TO KAIRMOUNT. 



1 



y 
II Fairmoiint! still my irHMn'ry oft 

'J'hy ph'iigin;,' charms reviews; 

'■^ And on thy scenes and breezes soft, 

How often do I muse I 



Thon'st many a lovely sight at hand, 
(^nite charming to hehoid ; 

Thy sporting images so grand, 
(Jf su{!h a perfect monid ; 

Thy waving grass, thy verdant trees, 

The visitor entice ; 
Their foliage, lliitt'ring in the breoz?, 

Minds me of Taradisc. 



180 AI>1»KKS> TO K.VIKMOUNT. 

Ill suimiuM-. wluMi ojipri'ssM witli licat 
The townsmiin seeks to lleo 

From noise and bustle ol' the street, 
Ijet liiin but turn to tbic. 

The niiin lU' bus'ne8s here may liiul 

A sale retreat from care. 
To ease his oft iKM'plexed mind 

Of jvriefs he's doom'd to bear. 

\ou, \i\fs and hner, \oo, may linil, 
Knjoyment sweel for hours ; 

(h\ eatided walks, or if ineliu'd, 
Henoath the elo^e-sereen'd bow'rs. 

Then if these lovidy seenes below 
iShould cease to plenso you more ; 

Vp to the reservoir yon e^o, 
I'^resb beaut it>s io adore. 

There IMuhulelphia yon behold, 
•Stretched far before your sight, 

Where sunny rays to you unfold, 
The steeples tow'rinj:; bright. 

N\>\v turn your eyes ai;ain below, 
To SchuylkilTs rolling tide ; 

Heboid the sloop and light bateau, 
That beautifuUv glide. 



^is ^ vir- 



GTWKF. 



IKIKI'' — Hiiya Mic Hii^n^ — l.luil; moiiHlroiiH ciciiliin", 
la nowlii'i"*' l() I)<i loiiiid ill iiiiliir('; 
"J'JH Mil iiii:i;niiiiry clf, 
Crcalcd Ity I lie moiiI iIhcH". 

'IMii'ii why hIi(»iiIi| Mijiii, IimjI iniiii, hi; wid ? 
A II inil.iii't; JH ill lii'iiiily chid, 
And HtiiiicH with ('hcciriiliicHM ii|i(iii him, 
And hIiovv'T.'I Imt (';iv(ir,i richly on iiiiii. 

'I'lir li(d)l(' Ioi'ChI.'h IioI drc;i,y'd, 
And verdure •j;rccii yet cIoIIich llie;j;|jMle; 
'I'lie nky lli()ii;di'(, Ik! iiI, liiiicH (I'crcdondcd, 
Thou Kiiow'hI. 'l.iH iiol, ill ii;i,cKclol,li Hhioiidcd. 

TIk! Iu'ooIvH iiiid liviilclH !uc (dciir, 

All luiliind lhiii<^H in joy ;i.|)|)('ju' ; 

'I'licii nmii, IVuil iiiuii, how cuii'hL I lion ^riovu 

Wlu'ii llioii Hiicli hoiiiil.icH iiiiiy'Hl, rcc<'iv(iV 

Thy liciiiL hiiH in»(, hccii ji^^hl.Iy Hchool'd, 
'I'liy piif-Hioii'H iiol, been rightly nilM ; 
In HcdliHJincHH mid pride l.lioii'il, clad, 
'J'hcrelore tlion'rl, iiiiHcruhie and mid. 



(IM) 



ON OLD BILL. 

Sj^H^E'S spiivin'd — lie's got the broki'ii wind — 
wMM llo Ims the sweeny, lie's uliiiost. bliiitl ; 
^1^ lie's lame, iiiul gcurcely cun lie walk, 
At ev'ry step lie makes ii bulk ; 
lie hobbles along, tij), lip, loj), 
With a jerk, a lunge and a hop, 
And when ho stands he needs a prop. 
His teeth are done, he scarce can eat, 
They slip and screech whene'er they meet; 
And when ho moves. Lord, how he totters! 
lie scarce can stand upon his trotters, 
Turn him out aiul let him die, 
Toor old horse ! 

OLD BILL'S REMONSTRATIONS. 

When I was young I was ((uite supple. 
And much admir'd for Fpced ; 

I could have trotted on the road, 
^^'itll any eomnion steed. 

And could have haul'd as great a load. 
Or jiloiigli'd as well t)ie ground ; 

And master was as proud of me 
As of his fav'rite hound. 

If something ail'd me, olT he'd run. 

As if he'd break his neck, 
For lotions, physics, and so forth, 

Tlie 'M-iin ilisease to check. 

(188) 



IIIKJ^OIIN IIUSKINO I'AU'IY. 183 

I then was rubb'd jiiitl curried well, 

IJliick imd sliiiiiii^ was my liide ; 
My imino was comb'd and neatly plaited, 

My tail was with a ribbon tied. 

Of Adam's county I was the boast, 

I'^or speed, I'or jdth and nuittle; 
And notiiin^ on four le;^s 1 fcarM, 

Notev(!n horned cattle. 

I'uit now, because I'm old and stilf, 
" lluiif^ him! siioot him! " is the cry. 

Ah! well — -I've run my lon;^ career — 
I'm ready now to die. 



THE CORN HUSKING PARTY. 



^|^NI*> iii^^lit, ^>hen at a husking spree, 
j^^ The moon was shininj^ clearly, 0, 
^P And girls and boys with mirth and noise, 
Convers'd and sung most cheerly, 0. 

Tl)e corn to husk was laid in rows, 
An'l iieoi)le roundabout it, O, 

Were sc^uatted down behind the pile, 
Who merrily did clout it, 0. 

They were, indeed, a jovial squad. 
All hiiddl'd down tof^ether, 0, 

As blithe a set of merry chaps. 
As ever wore shoe-leather, 0. 



184 THK COKN HUSKING rAKTY. 

Ami many a fat okl Dutchman there, 
Ihvd tootli like iron skewers, 0, 

Ami oft a rare olil swii;' of grog, 
Each to himself eeeures, 0. 

Snm "Whiskey stood among the snuail, 
With oiieeks like lumps of liver, 0, 

Tobacco spit run o'er his chops. 
Like water down a river, 0. 

Old ]\lonkey-l'\u'e was likewise there, 
As smart and blithe as any, 0, 

AVith striped yellow bed-gown on. 
Belonging to his granny. 0. 

CMd riiilip, too, among the rest. 

As merry as a cricket, 0, 
Was hacking his tobaeeo quid, 

And eagerly did liek it, O. 

Old Knmp likewise with conic hat, 
Was gu/.y-ling at the whiskey, 0, 

And strutting round and stutt'ring loud, 
As he became more frisky, 0. 

Ourang-Ontang, (he wrang'er. 

Was gaping 'mongst the party, 0, 
And curling np his upper lip, 

With snarls and sneers most hearty, 0. 

Cronch'd in the corn sat Swallow- Pown, 
A staunch old whiskey-sucker, 0, 

And with stentorophonic voice, 

lie bawlM and s<uig Pan Tucker, 0. 



•mi; coHN in;sKiN<i i-akiv. 1H5 

lU'liiiid hirii sat a hoohy lail, 

\Vli() Ciiuw from Norl.li (lodoniM, 0, 
Wliosci grinning teotli and Kiipiii^^ miohIIi, 

SliowM lie was fdiinniiii^clioniH, (). 

'TwaH MiiiH lliry sal, 'IwaH tliiiH l.licy hiiii<^% 
'I'lii' wliiHkcy iiiiiniii;^ lliroiij^'li Uiniii, O, 

]la<l ^Tcat oirccl. and iiiadc; llirni hiil.lic, 
And plcaHiiif^ wan'!, (ovifw I Ik in, (). 

Al. Icnf^tli tlu'Y all ioHuppcr ^o, 

And n()(d<in^ in liki; clii(d{(3nH, (), 
'J'licy piiHli and crowd to gat a Feat, 

And have l.lic fincsi pi(;l<in<.'B, (). 

Tlio supper o'er, (he (alilcH (dcarM, 

T\h'. <^\v\h without, di'layin;.', (), 
Arran^'o tlio b('n(dl(^■^, lorrnH and cliair«, 

And soon ]h'^'\u a playin;^';, O. 

'riicn Huch kissing and such squooziing, 

I n(M'r before did see, sir, 
Such winking and such hlinkin^r, 

Kept ev'ry thing in gh;e, nir. 

'I'he hnxoni IikIm were sealed round, 

I*]aeh with his hiss so cliarrning, O, 
Whihj otliers crowded in the doors, 

liiko buzzing bees a swarming, (). 

Old J)u8ty Miih-r ho]i-i aroiiml. 

With females jii.sl, cnliHlcd, (), 

The tuble-cloth lie takes in Inind, 

.Just liko a pig tail twisted, (). 
in* 



186 THE CORX HUSKING PARTY. 

Pig-tail in hand around he goes 
To see them rightly matched, 0, 

"When beaux are soused around the room. 
And rap, tap, tap, they catch it, 0. 

Some girls exchange them ev'ry round, 
Poor fellows how they feel it, 0, 

Sometimes they cheat Old Dusty though, 
And cunningly they heel it, 0. 

But getting tir'd of such a game, 
They wish for fresh diversion, 0, 

When Dusty gets up something new, 
Eequiring great exertion, 0. 

First, ev'ry one should have his girl, 
And hug her up and squeeze her, 0, 

Another one should go around, 
And unawares should seize her, 0. 

'twould have made a pig to laugh. 
Or rais'd to mirth a donkey, O, 

To see Old Dusty hop around, 
A grinning like a monkey, 0. 

First Jack who'd lost a pretty girl, 
Jump'd round to steal another, 0, 

And seiz'd on one brown wrinkl'd hag, 
Much older than his mother, 0. 

But soon he let her go again, 
And seiz'd on lovely Lizzie, 0, 

And others running all at once, 
They kept Old Dusty busy, 0. 



TAVO LOVERS. 187 



He tried in vain to beat them all, 
They were too smart and handy, 0, 

But now they say they'll end it up 
And take a drink of brandy, 0. 



TWO LOYERS. 



^^EHOLD young love, just budding into bloom ! 
^^ And mark the ecstacy that does illume 
IP The countenance ; that brightens up the eye, 
And gives the cheek a deeper rosier dye ; 
Each feature wears an air of cheerfulness, 
Expressing more than words could e'er express. 

Who has not felt this inward passion growing 
Within the breast, with all its fervor glowing! 
Like fountain from its deep recesses springing, 
Kefreshing waters to the surface bringing. 

A youth and maiden long had known each other, 
For like twin lambs had they grown up together — 
Each other's sports and pastimes did they share, 
Their joys and sorrows were each other's care. 

With this young lad it was the aim and pride 
To please the fair young damsel by his side. 
And many feats of brav'ry did he show. 
And many gifts on her did he bestow. 

He'd scale the lofty cliff where wild grapes grew, 
The earliest of the season, sweetest too ; 
He'd place the finest bunches in his cap, 
And modestly convey them to her lap. 



188 TWO LOVERS. 

Thus their brief youth, uncloudecl, pass'd away, 
With scarce an obstacle to mar their play ; 
Now plucking flow'rs upon the plains and hills, 
Now strolling by the brooklets and the rills. 

But, reader, lest we should your censure raise, 
AVith vain recitals of their childish plays, 
Let us pass o'er the sallies of their youth, 
And come at once to the plainest truth. 

As years pass'd on, and as their stature grew. 
Still their attachment was increasing, too ; 
This fondness grew to love, as poets say, 
And that's the subject of our present lay. 

^Twas on a day when roses were in bloom, 
And honeysuckles breath'd their sweet perfume. 
The feather'd tribe were flitting merrily 
From tree to bush, and back from bush to tree. 

At early morn, on that bright summer day, 
Our two young friends were seen to take their way 
Across the lawn — through flow'ry dale they went, 
Soft were their words of love — but eloquent. 

A morn more calm and mild you never knew. 
One little cloud was all that was in view. 
Scarce visible — so vap'ry and so pale, 
As though it were some comet's fleecy tail, 
Or, but the incense smoke that seem'd to rise 
From some bright burning censer of the skies. 

The leaves repos'd upon the stately trees 
In calm security and perfect ease ; 
The waters in the pond were so serene. 
That scarce a ripple on their face was seen ; 



TWO LOVERS. 189 

The flow'rs blush'd and hung their tiny heads 
Still moist with dew-drops on their verdant beds. 

The atmosphere was calm, serene and fair, 
A soft, luxurious sweetness fill'd the air, 
As if a cloud of rose-leaves was blown o'er 
By heav'nly breezes from that Orient shore, 
Where dwelt in happiness the Primal Pair, 
When flow'rs and fruits profusely flourish'd there. 

On that fair morn when Sol's bright disk was seen 
Just peeping o'er the Eastern verge, between 
Two lovely hills — casting his gentle beams 
On herb and tree, which glisten'd in the streams, 
And lighting up the landscape far and near : 
Just at this time our two young friends appear ; 
The maid, more beautiful, more sweet, more gay, 
Than all the flow'rs contain'd in her bouquet. 

Brisk as a be?, and lightsome as a roe. 
From flow'r to flow'r she ran with cheeks aglow, 
The fairest and the sweetest did she cull, 
Until at length her large bouquet was full. 

This was her eighteenth birthday, it was said. 
For eighteen summers had roll'd o'er her head. 
And from her parents she obtain'd permission 
To spend the day in harmless recreation. 

Ne'er did she roam with greater liberty, 
Ne'er did she spend a day more happily. 
Ne'er did she in her life before appear 
More lovely to our hero, and more dear. 



100 TWO LOVEHS. 

I lor Loij;lioin li;it. ihmoIiM om \\cv glo.ssy luiir, 
Wliu'li liiiiii;; in tn'ssos o'er Ikt nocU so lair, 
llor f;lu\viu^ countonunco, her bri<,'ht blue eyes, 
Iler jifnicerul manners, lier expressions wise, 
T\w It'ust »)f lluvse could never fail to niovo 
IMie stiM-Mi'st of (lie cither se\ to love. 

Is it surpiisiii!.', tln'ii, (hut such liri^iit elKiruKS 
Should win our Iuto's heart V And with their nrnis 
Ijink'd,iis llu'v pass beneuth tlu^ how'rs that sereen them, 
That but. one heart, one pulse, should beat between them? 

WithiioKl thy censures, then, thou hirclcss creafiire — 
If thou hast never lov'd, strange is thy nature. 
And if thy loving days are past ami gone, 
O woe !irt thou, that thou wast never won. 

JMethinks 1 hear some libertine exclaim. 
That "Love is but a sentimental dream, 
Iinngijuition running wild with joy; 
That all alleetions soon or late will cloy." 

Hut let us pass such friv'lous arguments, 
And follow on through groves or steep ascents, 
To see and note the magic pow'rs of love. 
The kind of love that's sanctioned from above. 

Our two young friends still wander'd on together, 
If mortals ever lov'd, they lov'd each other ; 
'Twas not that Jore, which roaJli/ is but lust, 
Which virtue ever turns from with disgust; 

l>ut 'twas /vv?/ /o/v, in all its purity, 

AVhich elevates the soul and sets it free 

From harrowing cares, and from all worldly strife. 

And gives a zest to all the joys of life. 



TWO LOVERS. 191 

What were all cjirthly pleasures hero below 
If love in liuinan breasts slioiiKl cease to How ? 
Without true love, who ooukl this life endure ? 
For cv'ry c;rief and heart-ache 'tis the cure. 

In vain tiie earth might all her charms display, 
In vain the sun ilhuninate the day; 
'i'he lights that deck tiie lirmament above, 
J\light shine in vain (o hearts devoid of love. 

The llow'r miglit bloom in all its gayety, 

The bird might sing his carols on the tree. 

The forest and the Hold, the hill, the dale, 

Might ileck thi'mselves in living green, und f;iil 

To charm the heart of man. Let love appear, 

The scene is changed — the worhl looks bright and fair. 

Now, let us verify these low remarks, 
By reference to the time, when, like young larks, 
So sprightly, gay, and happy, did we roam 
O'er hills and dales around our native home. 

Or, on a summer ev'ning, on tl;e green. 
We danc'd with lovely maidens of sixteen, 
Or 8i)ent the hours in innocent delight, 
Until the twilight lost itself in night. 

We now are past the noon of life, and yet 
Those happy days how can we e'er forget ? 
And that passion which animated us, 
Still animates the young. 'Tvvas ever thus. 

thou sweet love, that banishes all pride. 
That turns the darts and stings of life aside, 
That casts a glow of beauty, bright, serene, 
A halo of enchantment o'er the scene ! 



193 TWO LOVERS. 

Our two young friends had left the plains and rills, 
And had arriv'd at those romantic hills 
That horder on that stream — that classic ground, 
In hist'ry and in story nmch renown'd. 

At ev'ry step new beauties they behold ; 
The very stones seem emerald and gold; 
Enraptnr'd do they note each sight and sound — 
Love gives a charm to ev'rything around. 

Old Brandywine was in his calmest mood, 
And with majestic flow his course pursued ; 
The tiny wavelets on his dini])rd face 
Were twinkling in the light — and with a grace 
As they were passing by they bow'd their heads. 
And chas'd each other o'er the grav'Iy beds; 
O'erjoyed at having pass'd the rocks above. 
They kiss'd the pebbly shore as if in love. 

And here and tiiere were seen a spotted trout 
])isporting on the Avave — He, too, no doubt 
AVas happy then — what animal was not? 
All nat'ral objects round the peaceful S])ot 
Seem'd to rejoice on that auspicious day. 
And all their charms and loveliness display. 

There rocks precipitous and steep and high, 
Whose tow'ring summits seem'd to touch the sky ; 
There woods far as the eye could reach were seen, 
And fertile fields array'd in living green ; 
And there extensive vales reposing lay, 
Adorn'd in their magnilicent arra3\ 

The varied scenes presented to the eye 
On either bank of that bright stream defy 



TWO LOVERS. 193 

The genius of the artist to portray; 

How vain the poet's efforts to convey 

A true conception of tlie beauteous sights, 

That met our lovers' view upon those heights. 

As in tlieir wanderings they still advance, 
There is a loveliness in cv'ry glance; 
A tenderness in ev'ry word express'd, 
That show'd the kind emotions of the breast. 

And many a cosy resting-place they found, 

Beside the fountain, or the rippling brook, Avliose sound 

The sweetest, most delicious music made. 

As o'er the mossy stones the wavelets play'd. 

Now 'nealh an elm that has for ages stood, 
Unscathed by thunderbolt or storm or (lool, 
Whose wide extended branches form'd a bower. 
Close-screened and Cvool — excluding Sol's Derce power, 
They sit conversing on a mossy knoll, 
While far below the murmuring waters roll. 

Hero tales of love in earnestness are told ; 
'Tis here the youth his bosom does unfold, 
To which the maiden lends a list'ning ear, 
And blushes modestly his tales to hear. 
And ere the sun had pass'd meridian height, 
The day was uam'd that should their hearts unite. 

To this young couple then how sweet was life, 
How charming seem'd the names of man and wife, 
And as they stroU'd, or sat on mossy beds, 
The birds that sang so sweetly o'er their heads, 
Oould not have been more joyous or more blest 
So buoyant were the hopes that fill'd each breast. 
n 



191 



TWO I.OVEUS. 



At length tlial iKippv dnv aiuw to :i closo, 
Aiul boasl. ami bird and llow'r goui^lit reposo ; 
Tim sun unnoficod liad ivtii-'d to rest. 
In crinison-cuiiain'd coueli far in tlie West. 

The twiliglit ,i;ray did s?ih'ntly ap}>eai-, 
Knsliroiulini; all the landscape fur and nrar, 
Assiniilatuii; earthly things sublime, 
Hro they poreeived the rapid tlight of time. 

And as they homewjird turuM tlu'ir foolsli^ps, they, 
Still interested, linger'd on the way; 
And when ihey parted 'twas with great regret, 
That that bright day was gone, and !Sol was set. 

did such days not jiass away so last ! 
could such hapjiy days unceasing last I 
what a world of liappiness wore this, 
And what a Paradise of joy and bliss I 

N"o weeping and no wailing wouUl we hear, 
Hut peaee and harmony would grace our sphere 
T'hen i'rom tlie pnljiit would no nuire be heard, 
That ol't-re})eateil te\t — that di>lel"ul word : 
"This is a. world of sin, woe, antl tlesjiair, 
And man the child of sorrow and of care.'' 



OLD BARLOW. 
ThG Model Schcolmaster of tho Oldcn Time. 



j|ij)SniI) I'.jirlow WiiH ;i (diiclicr luiicli rciiowiiM, 
Jh^-3 "'■ vviis tlio wotulor of tlio country roiUKl, 
"Tp N()ii(3 liii'l ti betUii- iiiiiul, or cdiiciiiion ; 
'I'o LluH lio iniiinly owed his elcvutioii. 

IA)r yciii'K lie lu'pl ;i, scliool in Hiiilcy Wooil, 
AiHlcv'ry urchin in Mic nei^^liborliood, 
Yt'H, old 1111(1 youn^', of cither sc\, by ruU' 
(/ould tell the wuy to ]i;irlow's furnouH soliool. 

A vast iiinouiit of Icurnini,' lie po.sscs.sM, 

^Vh!lt iirt.s or scicncea could bo oxprcss'd 

Thiit ho was not riiuiiliar with ? For knowlcd c, 

l!o was a university or a coliof^c 

Anatomy, I'hiciljoloniy or blccdiuL', 
IMiilosoiihy, l'hih)lo^y and rcadin;^, 
(htho^^raphy, ()i-thoc]>y and Crannnar, — 
All thcKo ho (a>\j^ht, nor did ho boast or clamor. 

Aritlnuctic waK notliinii; but divcurion, 
][(! rattled nnnd)ers oil" without exertion, 
Mensuration, l-'luxiona and Algebra, 
Were all as jjlain to him as b-a-ba. 

Enginecrinj^, (hanging, (Jnomics and all that, 
If(i had at his lingera'ende, plain and pat; 
TiOgic and eloquence, he understood, 
IJi'sidei", with words and signs ho could stop blood. 

(i!»r.) 



196 OLD BARLOAV. 

Oeograjjliy was but a common item, 

He knew it better than those men who write 'em ; 

The islands, continents, and seas between them. 

He could describe as well as those who'd seen them. 

And History — both sacred and profane, 
Ancient and modern, was stored within his bnnn, 
Chronology was in his spacious noddle, 
That head of his which was indeed a model. 

And languages — the living and the dead, 
These, too, were found to occupy his head ; 
Hebrew, Greek and Latin — all these he knew, 
IJesides Egyptian, Babylonian, too. 

At times when not engag'd in school with Grammar, 
He could be seen prospecting with his hammer; 
Geology to him was plain as a-b-c, 
The world's great age, he in the rocks could see. 

Fossils he found — remains of shells and bones. 
Where other eyes discover'd naught but stones. 
Keen were his eyes and sharp their penetration, 
Their perceptive powers peer'd into all creation. 

A wonder of wonders — a puzzle — a riddle 
Was "Old B.irlow"— But he'd ne'er fool and fuldle 
With things of no account — But "will it pay 
Is the important question" — he would say. 

Astrology possess'd great interest. 

This art or science seem'd to pay him best; 

The planet's motions and their elements 

U 'Voal'd lo him the future — good or bad even's. 



OLD BARLOW. 197 

Tlie occult sciences of olden times, 

That once prevail'd in Oriental climes 

He'd studied well — those practic'd by the sages 

Of ancient Egypt, in fur-distant ages. 

When mighty megatheriums free from harm, 

Roani'd on the earth, which then was green and warm, 

Before a pyramid had rais'd its head. 

When mankind toil'd not for their daily bread. 

This art " Old Barlow " practic'd at his leisure, 
Principally for profit— sometimes for pleasure, 
And hundreds came to him from far and near, 
With strong desires tlieir destiny to hear. 

All classes came to see and hear his word, 
And stay'd until iluir fortunes, they had heard, 
Some came at early morn, and some at noon, 
And some were lighted thither by the moon. 

So great a run of customers had he. 

They wearied him at times to that degree 

He could not sleep in peace — not e'en on Suiiday; 

The same routine eonimenced again on Monday. 

Young ladies met him on his way to church, 
Perhaps their beaux had left them in the lurch. 
And he must try his arts to bring them back 
By consultation with the xodiac. 

In short, there was not such a genius found 
In all the parishes and shires around ; 
Oft would he frown and scowl, yet pleas'd within, 
To see the shining shillings rolling in. 



lOS I II I". i)i;,VTii o\' Mv ^\vi';i';r kiity. 

SoiiU'tiiiKS n j;\'n(l('iii;m aiitl huly ,i!;r:nul. 
Would liiy a goldon sovcMvijjfn in his hand, 
l<\n- si'ltinj]j all thoir anxious foara lo roai, 
Thai. Mu\y should yoi havo lu'irs to oaso the brt'iiat. 

\U\l now he's jj;oni> — his usclnl days !Ui' o'or; 
lie's " p.'is.sM the honni "we'll never se(> him nioie 
Till wt> arrive npon the olher shore: — 
what a loss of nielaphysic lore I 



TIIK DKATII OF MY SWKKT KITTY 



nJtlSH^i rO(^ks and hills and llow'ry dales, 
5r^^^ Around this infant city, 
'^Ij Oft have 1 roam'd o'or your bri<;h( seetu-s, 
With my sweet, lovely Kitty ; 
But listlessly, 1 view you now, 

I'm overwhelm'd with sadness, 
Your scenery, thouj^h bright and fair, 
(Vmvoys to n>e no gladness. 

(ilen IvoeU was (uu'e a lovely plaee. 

And nil Avas blithe and cheery, 
"When Kato and 1 so lightly rov'il, 

Our feet were never weary; 
But now, alas! how sad the tale ! 

My Kate, my brightest treasure, 
Will never more aooompany mc, 

To sluuv tny joy a!»d |>U>asuro- 



TIIK I) K A '11 1 Ol' MY SWKKT KII'I'Y. 



'.)'.) 



Oil Kiiic, wliy (lid'Hl. IIh)II Ic;iv<' iiic I!iiih, 

In deep diHl-iCHH (,0 ponder ! 
And (Mil* ihcm vc^rdiinl, IiHIh and (IuNm, 

In lotiolinoas lo wnndcr ; 
I Inirdly can n^prcHJ a Iciiir, 

My heart licaveH vvil.li enioliDU, 
Wlicn on l.liy virluo I rellfcl. 

Tliy failli and lliy devol/ion. 

When I.ikI, we. pai'led, h;de and Kl.ron^', 

Mniajil.nr'd and (hdij^'hled, 
Ah I liLUe <Iid we know or (hinU 

Onr liopcH Hhonhl noon Ix! hli^^hled ! 
can it h(! — can it hii! 

I ask mysolf and wonder, 
That Hhc so soon fihonid taki; her lli;.';h(, 

To (hat hri/;ht worhl np yond/'r. 

Now iMonin )r. hill,'!, luid nionrn ye dahH, 

Ai;d mourn ye d vvai"(i,-;h nionnlainn, 
^'e hrookn and rdhn Unit j,'ently (low, 

h'roin your hrij^ht sparkline; (uuntainH, 
^'e wiirhlerH of l,!i(i Hylva,n im'ovc, 

'Chat (lit ahont ho (?ee(,Iy, 
(dnui^M! your (.one, itf^ric^cs nie ho, 

To hear yon f-in;^ ho Kvve( (ly ! 



^■^^''li)^ 



THE FISHING PARTY. 

For Mollie. 



I AY, gentlemen and ladies gay, 



^^ Will you not listen to my lay — 
'jf I wish to tell you in quaint rhyme 
Something about that merry time, 

We had with George, and Will, and John, 

Bright lively fellows ev'ry one, 

And girls, perhaps a half a score. 

The names of which you've heard before. 

''i'was at the season of the year, 
When buds and blossoms do appear 
In all their beauty, pure and fair. 
When their sweet fragrance scents the air. 

We went in carriage?, that day, 
Like gentlemen and ladies gay. 
But where we went I need not tell. 
Perhaps you know the place full wlII. 

'Tis in a most romantic dale, 
A silv'ry brook flows through the vale. 
With hills and woods on either siJe, 
In all their majesty and pride, 

That brook here loiL'ring on its way. 
As if to view a scene so gay. 
And hear the birds' melodious notes. 
Which merrily do swell their throats, 



OJOO) 



TIIK FISHING I'AUTY. 201 

Has rorm'd a hike, a lake of note, 

III wliicli an elephant may float, 

O'er Avhich a yaclit might proudly sail — 

But let me not forget my tale. 

'Twas from the margin of this lake 
Wo cabt our lines the lish to take ; 
We angl'd here for eels and trout, 
We'd naught to do but draw them out. 

At length we left the line and hook, 
And play'd or stroll'd along the brook, • 
Or sat beneath the shady bowers, 
And thus we spent the precious hours. 

And then the little mill was near, 
Whose sound we could distinctly hear, 
The waters tumbling from their height, 
Scem'd agitated with affright. 

But now the gauntlet having pass'd, 
The brook resumes its course at last. 
In gentle ripples flowing on, 
Meandering towards the noonday sun. 

Bnt we will not prolong iho theme, 
AVe've said enough about the stream. 
And of sweet flowers we need not write — 
The school-girl can all this recite. 

l)ut larger girls have higher themes, 
A stream of love runs through their dreams, 
Twas love that rul'd their sports that day. 
And gave a zest to all their play. 



0()> 



iiii-; ivvsiiioNAHM-; \v 1:1)1)1 N(i. 



Sweet lovd whom nil tJic world lulmirt'.^, 
WImt kiiul ('ino{i()iis ^<llo iiispiit's, 
Wlijit iiiJiltiMVS lu'iil, or coltl, or laiii, 
Wlit'iHi lovi' piwsiiU's Ciire'y (liir<s ;in> vain. 

IM liUc to (I'll you souu^lhiiii;- luoiHi 
( M' I host' sly Jiria love has in store, 
The preeioiLS i^laiicet^, (|ui]).^ ami wiK'«, 
'I'lic wiiiUs, aiul blinks, aiul nod-^, and smile 

'i'hal. ai\imali> Ihe very sonl, 
And W'.irnis (he air irom pole to pole, 
The (H)ldestr hi'art. cannot, resist, 
llcr wiles and arliliee^ to b(> kissM. 



TITK FAGIIIONAnLK WKPniNG. 



aHll I'i hiii)piesf of tlu'ir courl'ing-days were i!;one, 
J^^ Vet one more happy day was oonrmg on, 
y 'Tis to their weddini^-diiy 1 now ullude — 
Now, let ns witness this and then eonelnde. 

Hilt weddin<^ days are eommon thini';s at best., 
NVith some exeitinn; little intx'rest. 
" 1 will not hear it," says a wrinkled maid, 
"'Tis nothing;; but the shadow of a. Kshade." 

Unt hold, thon sour mi.-;anthropist, awhile, 
('ompose thyself, for once i)ut on a smile. 
For such a wedding, Miss, you never saw, 
Your conniion weddings are not worth a straw. 



I'lIM hASlllON A 111,1', WI'liDINi;. l^iOiJ 

'J'lic (lay liiid doiiiiid il8 lioliday ullirc, 

Tlic clrnicnls Imd Iiiid utiidc! Ilicir ire, 

To vvilncHH so iriiporlaiiL an <v( iil, 

I'\)r oil tlio prcvioiiH day tlirir liiry had Ix-cii ,s[)i'ii(. 

'I'lio Idido ii])|>('ar'il in nil Iicr liiu ry, 
The fi;rooni wuh there iiiul those of hi^Ii (!(\j;r('(', 
The ('dil(! of tlic lovvii were present then ; 
And hidics ^^i,y, and hi-ave und ^^aUant men. 

A vast iiiTiiy oreuuehe.s lin'd the way, 

And Hleeds of ^loHwy bhick und da,p|)rd ^ray, 

Whoso hides were srnootli lis tlioso ol" inolea and really 

Their inime.s and tails were ornainenled ;^iiily, 

With ribbons and ro.settes and garhindn liunLj 

Around their necks, in vvhi(!ii l)ri<4ht llovv(;rs were f^lrnn^; 

'i'liey rais'd their h('a,dH and Ifowcd Ilicir iic(d\H and 

l)run(;M 
Ah on the road so swil'ily I hey ad v. meed. 

I'l'Diid were (hose hIcciIs and w<dl they niii^ht be so, 
They prick'd I heir eiirs und unxious werc^ lo <;o, 
I*\'W steeds e'er have the honor which llu'y ha I, 
W'W .steeds, indeed, are e'er so (ineiy (dad. 

And (hen those ceacdie.s were ho liehly i^arninli'd, 
l^'antuslieally ])uinted, too, und vurnish'd, 
That coniinoii i'ulks like us, without more cliairui^^ 
To ride in such might hurt ourselves with luu^hiii;^^. 

Those j)ussengers ull werti huiidsoiu(dy dres.-cd, 
I*oth mules und ienniKs, in th(5 very bent,, • 
No corduroy, nor sutinet — oh no — 
No linsey-woolsey, und no calico. 



204 THE FASHIONABLE AVEDDING. 

The best Fiench cloth and satin rich and raiv, 
Were not too good for those yonng men to wear, 
And beaver hats that glisteu'd in the sun, 
And boots that made the cats and puppies run. 

Those ladies never were so neat before. 
The costliest and richest silk they wore, 
And gaiter bootees of the latest style, 
The sight of w'hich provok'd Miss Julia's smile. 

And oh the charming words and'glanccs sweet, 
That caus'd their hearts so fervently to beat, 
As they in pairs advanc'd upon their way — 
Those gallant men, and those young ladies gay. 

It may be thought this great display was vain. 
Naught but an ostentatious wedding train, 
But oh you never saw the like before. 
Besides the like you'll never witness more. 

The young look'd on it as a great event. 

And 'mongst the old it stirr'd up much comment, 

Its novelty had such attractive force, 

Some ladies wish'd for a divorce, 

80 that they might be woo'd and married over, 
By and to some fashionable lover. 
That would lead her to the altar without delay, 
And wed her in this fashionable way. 

Oh isn't it a sight lovely to behold ! 
When twenty couples free and uncontroll'd, 
Enjoy themselves in such a glorious way — 
This really was to them a gala day. 



THE FASHIONABLE AVEDDING. 205 

That party on this lovely summer day, 

rj^Q *:*:******* church was on its way, 

To witness and to celebrate the bonds, 

The nnion of two loving hearts and hands. 

The church to which the bridal train was bound, 
Was situated on an elevated ground, 
Surrounded by a lovely shady grove. 
Which might incite the coldest heart to love. 

'Twas not of Gothic style, a clumsy heap, 

Rough in aspect, irregular in shape, 

With passages beneath tortuous and weary, 

And cells dark and mouldy, sickening and dreary. 

With pointed arches o'er its windows and its doors, 
With straw and rushes on its earthy floors, 
Like prison cells unlighted and unroomy, 
In ev'ry feature hideous and gloomy. 

Our church is very different from this, 

A well constructed modern edifice, 

In Ancient or Pagan times not built, 

But rear'dwhen men knew innocence from guilt. 

Without, her steeple tow'rs above the trees, 
Her gilded weather-vane turns in the breeze. 
Within, there's light, and heat, and ventilation, 
There's ev'ry comfort and accommodation. 

The pews and pulpit, nicely grain'd and varnish'd. 
All neat and clean — the metal lamps untarnish'd, 
And cushions on the seats without a stain. 
And carpets on the floor, the best ingrain. 

18 



206 THE FASHIONABLE WEDDING. 

But here my pen must pause — she is not able 
To describe the altar and communion table. 
But why should she on such minuti« dwell ? 
Let this suffice — no more she needs to tell. 

The solemn ceremony was recited, 

Two hands were join'd — two loving hearts united, 

And ev'ry one was seriously impress'd 

AVith the sweet words the minister address'd. 

Now the party in their carriages are gone, 
And mirth and merriment are going on, 
A glorious feast awaits their sale return, 
Such feast you never saw since 30U were born. 

But how they spent that happy day, 
The sport they had, the games they play, 
I could not tell you if I would, 
And would not tell you if I could. 

could those splendid coaches tell the tale. 
How those young ladies blnsh'd behind the veil, 
At loving words that fell upon the ear, 
And smacking kisses sweeter and more dear. 

A bridal party of high rank was that. 
None of your common weddings, dull and flat, 
Where but a few lone guests are e'er invited. 
To witness two cold, sober hearts united. 

Your parsons to a lonely house repair, 

As though it were an ev'ry day affair, 

Say a few words on matrimonial life, 

And then pronounce tlie couple man and wife. 



THE FASHIONABLE WEDDING. 207 

Then they must have a chicken stewM or fried 
For supper, and some sausages beside, 
Then, after this the ceremony's over, 
And the bridegroom no longer is a lover. 

Then they must keep it secret for awhile, 

And dwell with cats, like Selkirk on his lonely isle, 

No one to know it but themselves alone. 

As though it were a sin to make it known. 

In selfish solitude and selfish pride. 
In dull monotony the groom and bride 
For a month or two must rusticate. 
When love, if such it is, is changed to hate. 

Meanwhile they dig and grub and scrape and scratch, 
And lead a humdrum life — Fie! what a match ! 
They rail and scold and never cease their pother, 
And often wish they'd never seen each other. 

Such marriages as these are but too common, 
If marriages you call them — but, good woman. 
No wonder happy marriages are few. 
When such low schemes must be resorted to. 

You applicants for matrimony's bliss, 
Young gentleman, young lady, or young miss, 
Never be married in this shabby style, 
If you can't be married right, wait awhile. 

Now if you wish to do the job up right, 

A score or two of friends and guests invite, 

Go to ****;^**** church in coaches flying, 

And tie a knot that never needs untying. 



??0S TIIK VASIIIONAIU.K AV KDDl NO. 

TluMi t-jiciul ;i month or two of liiippy thiys, — 

do to concerts, theatres, uiul to phiys, 

'I'o IS;iri\loc;a ami Niaj^ara b'alls, 

'I'o all tlie ]ihicos of rrsort, ami balls. 

And go to i^mdoM, Paris, Italy, 

See nil the noble si>;hts that you can see, 

Drink good cluimpjigne, with lords and ladies dine. 

Then in the best socii'iy you'll shine. 

And, after (his, when yon come home to settle, 
You'll ever be esteem'il as ]irecious metal, 
The thoughts of those bright days "will leave yon never, 
^'onr love will never die, but last forever. 

And now you ask wlu>re is that church. 

Where hai>jiy coupK's can be join'd ; 
You i>rate and say that if you search 

The world around you'll never iind. 

l^nt you are much mistaken, Mit-'s, 
i"\ir I can tell you where to Iind it, 
"Pis not above ten miles from here. 
It has a shady grove behind it; 
Now what 1 am about to say is this, 
If you wish for matrimonial bliss 
I can direct you to the very spot, 
Where you can tie a good, lirm knot:. 
Besides, without delay, you'll get 
A genuine certillcato 
Without a blemish or a blot, 
At other places you cannot; 
If you should marry here, 
You'll always be sincere. 



Tlir, I'ASIIION A Kl.K W 1:1)1)1 NO. 301> 

Your in;irri:ijjf{i will be Viiliii, 

Your mipiiul vows be solid, 

You never will regret it, 

You never Ciin forj^et it, 

As long as you druw breath. 

You'll live a bai)i)y life, 

Free IVoiu all care and strife, 

And die a liappy deat.li. 

You'll ride in your own carria.i^e, 

And have many another nnirria^e, 

In nuMii'ry of that f^reat event, 

'J'lie day when to that cbureh you went; 

At five years' end you'll have a iroodcn wcddinf^, 

Your friends will brin<i;y()u wooden beds and beddinp- 

Wooden table?, wooden eliairs, wooden cradles, 

Wooden buckets, wooden (rays, Avooden ladles. 

Next wedding you have will be one of Uii, 
And then (in hoilcrs will come rollitif; in, 
'I'in horns, tin buckets, from bottom to top 
^'our house will be like a mauuuoth I in shoj). 

Twenty-five years will briii^' the si/n'r wedtlin;^ on, 
WluMi silver spoons and watches one: by one 
Will come — these will be heap'tl ujton your table; 
To estimate their worth you'll not be able. 

At lil'ty years the wedding is ol' t/ii/d ; 
^'ou'll luive more jewels than your house will hold, 
\'ou'll wonder what to do with such a store of things, 
Why, you'll be rich as priiuses, (pieeus or kings. 

At ev'ry wedding you will have a rousing frolic, 
With wiiu'S, cham])agne and beverage alcoholic, 

18* 



210 THE FASHIONABLE WEDDING. 

And vituuls of the riclicst, rarest flavor, 
Meats, fowls, and gravies of the sweetest savor. 

And pies and tarts of rarest fruit and high 
In jirice, as wealth and luxury can buy, 
And candied fruits, and jellies bright and clear. 
And cakes upon your table will appear. 

Vcur cooks will cream them, sugar them and flour them^ 
And all your friends will help you to devour them, 
"With all good things that appetite could crave, 
You'll have no need and no desire to save, — 
The sole complaint you'll hear will be "good gracious I 
0, if we had but stomachs more capacious." 

Old chums will greet you. 

Grandchildren will meet you, 

You'll be as hapjiy as a lark in spring; 

Aiid you will tell stories, play games and sing, 

And ev'ry one will say — how nice — how cleyer. 

Old gtnt — old lady — live forever. 

And when your race is ended, 

When jou come down to die. 
All those you have befriended. 

O'er your remains will cry, 
And wealth and talent be expended, 

Your name to glorify. 

And those you never knew before, 

Will follow to your grave, 
Grieving to their very hearts' core^ 

While crapes above you wave. 



M — U — \S ADDRKSS TO HIS NATIVH LAND. 211 

And editors will give ;i column 

Your merits to reheurse, 
And tell a talc sincere and solemn, 

Perhaps give you a verse. 

And then you'll have a monument 

Erected o'er your head, 
Your virtues to enumerate 

And tell that you are dead. 



M— R— 'S ADDRESS TO HIS KATIYE LAND, 

On Revisiting the Same After an Absence of Many 
Years. 



|p|\EAR native hills, whose summits are 
^^ With heath and herbage crown'd, 
Tj Your aspect ever is the same, 

Though chang'd all things around; 

The gleams of light and shadows play. 
Your rocks and crags among, 

As when my youthful footsteps roam'd, 
And life itself was young ; 

Dear native brooks that gently flow, 
'I'll rough mead and fertile vale, 

Upon whose margins oft we sat, 
To hear the fairy talc ; 



212 M — R— "S ADDRESS TO HIS NATIVE LAKD. 

Ye fields and glades that early spring, 

Bedeck'd with daisies sweet, 
Where playful mirth attended on 

Our never Avearied feet. 

Dear native haunts that still are gay, 

With nature's mantle clad ;^ 
could I but your scenes enjoy, 

As when I Avas a lad ? 

But ah! since then far have I roam'd. 

Upon a foreign strand ; 
Oft did I dream of your bright scenes,* 

When in that distant land. 

And ever has it been my wish, 

To visit you again, 
To roam o'er your bright scenes once more. 

To soothe my cares and pain. 

And will ye not now welcome me, 

With smiles of love and joy ? 
And caress me as once ye did, 

When I was young and coy ? 

And will the sky-lark's melting notes, 
The untun'd heart-strings thrill ? 

And will the cuckoo's welcome voice. 
Not cheer and charm me still ? 

Do summer's beauties still abound, 

Around my native home ? 
Will lilies, buttercups, and daisies, 

Still tempt my feet to roam ? 



M — R — 'S ADDRESS TO HIS NATIVE LAND. 213 

Alas ! The tnoiight again recurs, 

That I'm no longer young ; 
The tide of time which never stayp, 

Is hurrying me along. 

Yet dear to memory at least, 

Your scenes shall ever be ; 
And ever sweet to Fancy's ear, 

The warbler's melody. 

And Avlien I leave your blissful scenes, 

(For oh I cannot stay, 
For filial ties still call me hence — 

My home is far away ;) 

Let other feet, more nimble, tread 

Your hills and dales so gay ; 
And other eyes behold your charms, 

When I have pass'd away. 

Yet can I cease to rev'rence you, 

In future years to come ? 
And can I cease to dream of you. 

When in that distant home ? 

Though storms and tempests toss our bark. 

While she withstands the gale, 
My thoughts shall ever be of you, 

Till memory shall fail. 

When dark clouds lower, and snow-flakes fall, 

Amid the gen'ral gloom. 
Let me look back again on you, 

Deck'd in your summer bloom. 



A UKVKIUK. 



^'(' n ooia Hiul licatliH, iiiid liilLs i ml diiV'S, 

\v hliciiiiis dial, «. oil 1-1 y How; 
l<niTwoll, ^(^ liliHsfiil Hcciu'p, rurcwoli, 

I'm ready now to go. 



-> mt^ I 



A REYERIE. 



m NAT boaiil(^ (he ohimnoy jairib, 

r^, AbworbM in rov'rio (l(>i'|); 
I gii//(l upon tlio einbera brii^^lit, 
'riml fi'll upon llio licnp. 

Tlio ('iiilirii;- Kiiioko hscciuIcmI liij^li, 
And VHiiousi roriiia uaaninM, 

A spoctnil piijroiintry arose 
All bonneted and pliiin'd. 

They ligiir'd for a little while 
in all their pomp and pride; 

At- lenujtli a j^reat. black cloiid rose up, 
And jostled them aside. 

'I'hey'ie gone, t-aid 1 ; but, still I musM 

I 'poll the (•liaii<;in«^ scone, 
And woiulor'd what would next appear, 

And what all this could mean. 

I''ii\st caiiu> a calm and then a storm, 
'IMie tempest lo.ir'd and rear'd, 

Then calm and peaeo ])rovaird agiiin, 
'I he j^racefnl curia appear'd. 



001 N(i TO (;a,mi'. 215 

A Ins, tliou<,'liL J, lliese varying acenos 

Are all euggestivt; llienu's, 
This kitchen lire may he coinpar'U 

To human actH antl whiiiiH. 

Tlu! con(|iieror in all liia pomp, 

With legions in his train, 
Sweeps o'er the land like locust swarm, 

Desolating all the plain. 

He in hia turn is swept away, 

And forc'd to yield to late; 
Thus (Joths and Vandals, Ihins and Turks, 

O'erran the Roman State 

I'.iit these could not their places huhl, 

They in their turn gave way, 
And other trihes as riule ami wild, 

Devour'd them as their prey. 

And so the strong ()'ei'(!anie the weak, 

As large lish eat the snuill. 
And so the tide is flowing on, 

And Time's devouring all. 



GOING TO CAMP. 



fOIN(J to camp, going to carjip, 
Horseman, footman, gentleman, tramp, 
Carriage, wagon, and don key- cart, 
On th(! way, or about to start. 



2\(i GOINO TO CAMP. 

It sooins ivs if oncli homoatoiul rouiul, 

l^r milos Jiiul leagues has caui;ht the fouiul, 

And pouring out its occupants: 

Thoy'ro moving swiftly on like ants. 

Hoth lualo and t'oniale, ohl and young. 
Join in to swcdl the happy throng; 
WhiU> all along t'ach thoroughfare, 
The clouds of dust float in the air. 

InipoUM by some attractive law, 

All to a common centre draw ; 

The living tiile is flowing in. 

And still they come through thick and thin. 

The farmer, thin and bow'd with toil, 
With face the color of the soil ; 
And city gents, both vain and ju-oud, 
^li\ in the heterogeneous crowd. 

And gay young ladies, neat and clean, 
All smiles and glances here are seen, 
In robes of silk, bright, rich and dear. 
And ribbons llutt'ring in the rear. 

How beautiful, how gay, how neat! 
Kose-buds were never half so sweet; 
How nimbly do they trip along. 
Threading their wiiy amid tlu' throng! 

What gentlenuin of royal blood, 
Could ever think himself too good, 
l*'or such fine ladies as these are? 
Thev're brilliant as the morniuir star. 



OOI Nd TO <'A Mr. 217 

I'lii InilicH, i.s il> iiol. loo bail, 
'riiul. yon, HO rich, and i^Mily clad, 
\ViUi Hucli imworl.liy beaux .should \v;illv ? 
hou'l. (h) il- ladicH lollvM will (a-lU. 

Would I lix up HU(!h frillH and collara. 
Would I buy poplin at two dollar.s, 
And in ono drc>.s,s put Ihirl.y yards, 
To siiliHly Huch n;;ly i)ard.s'i' 

Would ever I make sindi a I'uhm, 
And Hjiend my liard-iMrnM money thus, 
On eilke, ribboiiH, and fancy cofits, 
'l\) lead such hairy I'-illyj^oatH ? 

Would 1 e'er pUiil, and wcenl, my hair, 
And wear such hals to kcoj) me hiiry 
Novor — for such Imiry mon as those, 
Whilo ^niss j^m'ow.-? jijreen ami water (low.''. 

I'd hav(! a man that's ri<di and hi^h, 
One thnt could nil my wants supply, 
IWit such j)oor, -ijJd, iiiird-ravor'd men — 
J'd never look at Ihem a^jjain. 

'Tis only throwing; words away, 
tSiiys Miss — they liiu^h utall you s:iy ; 
"Pis not for men, you clown they <lo it, 
Kut their own notions prompt tliem io it. 

.lust so — 'tis just like ji^iddy youth ; 
But if they will not hear the truth, 
I'll siiy no mon^, but close lit once, 
Lest they should c.dl me fool, or dii;\ce. 

1!) 



MUSINGS IM 1 YILLISE GRAYE-YIRD. 



1 



|HE high and low — the rich and poor, 
% Wearied with their ceaseless toil, 
In this enclosure rest secure. 

Unconscious of the world's turmoil. 

Whatever passions prompted them 
Against each other to contend ; 

Whatever bitter feelings they 

Once had, their strife is at an end. 

Though rank and fortune lifted one, 
And penury repress'd another ; 

Though pride and avarice caus'd the one 
To hate, and lord it o'er his brother I 

No more they'll jostle one anothei?, 
In their bustle and their squabble; 

The miser has forgot his greed. 

The poor man has forgot his trouble. 

The num'rous mounds and monument ! 

And names do designate the spo^, 
Where each and ev'ry sleeper lies, 

Tuck'd snugly in his little cot. 

So num'rous are the mounds around. 
They fail not to excite a wonder ; 

The dead outnumber those that live 
In yon small village yonder. 



(218) 



MUSINGS IN A VILLAGE GRAVE YARD, 219 

Grandfathers and grandmothers, too, 

Whose spirits once were active ; 
And matrons, "vvho were kind and good, 

And maidens that were once attractive. 

All, here in peace, do soundly sleep, 
No noise, no tumults wake them ; 
No evil dreams disturb their rest, 
No worldly cares o'ertake them. 

The aged sire, whom all the village knew. 

Is also here among the many ; 
No more he'll toddle to and fro, 

1 1 is hoary head's as low as any. 

Ah! well do I remember. 

The cheerful, robust, full-fac'd squire, 
When prattling children stopp'd their play, 

To meet and greet the aged sire. 

And well do I remember, too, 

The solemn day when he came here ; 

Amid the throng was mourning deep, 
And o'er pale cheeks roll'd many a tear. 

The matron too, his consort dear. 

Lies here beside her noble lord ; 
Ah ! all the young and middle aged, 

Look'd up and listen'd to her word. 

How calm, how peaceful, how profound 
The stillness! Fit place for meditation; 

While in yon little village near. 
There's mirth, revelry and dissipation. 



230 TO CHARLEY, MY GOOD OLD HOUSE, 

Although SO many of her denizens, 
Sleep their last sleep on yonder hill, 

How little do the living care! 
U'hey're jovial and merry still. 

How few among that busy throng. 

Perhaps ever stop to think 
How scon they, too, in yon graveyard, 

To eternal sleep must sink. 

How Eolemn is the thought — how sad, 
Yet how important is the theme! 

We're all upon one voyage bent, 
All Iloating down the rapid stream. 



TO CHARLEY, MY GOOD OLD HORSE, 






OOR old Charley, what a pity, 
^^p That thou'rt so lean and poor, 
y But wait a little longer yet, 
I'll make thee fat, that's s 



sure. 



'i'hough thou art old and rather stiff. 
And weak about the knees, 

Yet, still thou art a good old horse. 
And do'st thy work with ease. 

Thou'st serv'd thy master^ faithfully 
Since thou wast old enough, 

And 'twould be wrong to use thee ill. 
Or handle thee too rough. 



ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF OLD CHARLEY. 221 

But do not cry, my Charley, 0, 

While I have grain and hay, 
I'll feed thee well, and use thee well, 

And often let thee play. 

But oh, I fear thou'lt not last long, 

Thy course is nearly run ; 
Yet I'll be loath to part with thee, 

And mourn when thou art gone. 



ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF OLD CHARLEY. 



IpOOR Charley's dead— what shall I do? 

'^tht I fear'd I could not help him through. 

He got so sick he could not chew 

His fodder crude, 

Yet bore his pain and sickness, too. 

With fortitude. 

J*oor fellow! but since he is gone, 
'Tis no use crying for what's done, 
"Y^'ou kill'd the creature," says some one, 

Y^ou wretch, you lie. 
It was the bots and them alone, 

That made him die. 

"Y''ou work'd him hard, you strain'd him so, 

You did not give him time to blow," 

Ah, no, my friend, its all you know 

About the matter, 

0, that Charley who now lies low. 

Could tell you better. 
i»* 



()l,l) MACK, TlIK MII-LEIU 

^ liltlo WHiblors, ooaso your notes, 
Vo buzzing insects, sluit your ihronls, 
^'l> lofty lulls, ye iielils of outf?, 

And lleUls of biirley, 
Put on your W(>eils and mourning coiite, 
l'\)r noble Clnirloy. 

Monin, Fan — O do not toss your IumuI, 
Mourn, i^'an, your noble coniraib"'s dejul, 
'IMie same witb whom you always IVd, 

I'oor Charley's gone, 
Who in plough or wagon always led. 

And brought you on. 



OLD MACK. THK MILLER. 



'^Pr^\\' odd (dd elui|) as e'er yini saw, 
0^ is this old Maek, llu« miller, 
IT stern, resolule, sly and artful, 
As .lack the (Jiant Killer. 

'riiough onei> a mongrel ol' a woman — 
A red-haired, IVeekly soul — 

Outwitted him by her sly arts, 
And ke])t liim under her control. 

She first seduced him ami he mu"ried^ 

To save himst'll" from jail, 
She bi)und him to her aprou-stringa 

'I'o follow in hor trail. 



()i,i> ma(;k, 'iiiK Miij.Ku. 2^;^ 

At loiif^tli lio was (Iciennincd 

No longer to Hiibriiil., 
WIkmi bIio cut him looHt; iiiid cast liiiii olT, 

So li(j wiiH I'orcM to Hit. 

11(1 wiiiKJoiH now from place to place, 

Like Hoinn lo.st ,s1k'(;i) Ibrloiii, 
"Without a inotjier to briu^ him milk, 

Or wife to grind his corn." 

J'oor Mack ! 'Ti.s hard indeed to bo 

To Huch a I'ato (;()nHi/^ne<l, 
No wonder that his heart m Houred 

A^^ainnt all womankind. 

Ill;,; li HI; -ROOM. 

I'chold bin bed— 'tin high and dry, 

Jt has not evitn got four legH, 
Hut .strictly Hjjcaking, 'tis no M, 

lint 'tis a hammock hung on pegs. 

His shoes are on that little shelf, 

And in that little mug, 
Is wiiere he keeps his knick-knacks nice. 

And snulT — but therci's no jug. 

His hat is in thai old black napkin, 

With paper label on it, 
Lest he should take it in mislako 

For some old lady's bonnet. 

There hangs his coal, an ancient relic, 

J I is drawers, too, are there; 
And pantaloons so neat and tidy, 

U'liouiih worn somewhat threadbare. 



224: OLD MACK, THE MILLER. 

Ilis walking-stick likewise hangs there", 

Iveady at his command, 
To accoinjiany him on his short walks. 

And hel[) his tott'ring limbs to stand. 

Jint if you wish some more to know, 

About his private room, 
'Tis necessary you sliould see it, 

And snuir its rich perfume. 

HIS HISTORY. 

liut did you never hear liim talk 

About his private history? 
lie, by the hour, or by the day, 

Unfolds, unveils each mystery. 

Old Scotia's Isle, long, long ago, 
Is where Old ]\Iack was born, 

As he grew up a wayward lad, 
He turned his back in scorn. 

He hoped to be, but never was 

A circumnavigator bold, 
He took a trip to Trinidad, 

But here he found no gold. 

Yet things he saw, and sounds he heard 

Quite marvelous to tell ; 
Thunders, earthquakes, and volcanoes. 

Where rocks and lava fell. 

^Mountains of sugar, rivers of rum. 
And money growing on a tree; 

And all strange sights that could be seen, 
Old Mnck did hear and see. 



()i.i» MACK, 'III!'; Ml i,i,i;i;,. 235 

liolli on lliu liuul and in tliu scu, 

Stranpto crcalurcs mot his view, 
Tlic <;rcat Ixviatlian of (he deep, — 

Wiial ;valer-s 1)0 Ills he threw. 

A I d the £oa Herpents Iii<(^ hof^.shcculH, 

h'oU'd in the Hca .so vast, 
Kow in the water, and now on I, 

Their heads iii<^h as tiie inusf. 

At length aClcr mmy liuir-hrcadth ('seii]M's 

Having sull'er'd hnnger, fatigue and thirst. 
And all hardships but death and lieli, 
In Baltimore he far'd the worst. 

Hero ])urgatory lay in his wake, — 

A wonum with red hair 
bewitched him with her cunning arts, 

And caught him in a .snare. 

This wa.s the rock on which he split, 

11 i.s ves.sei .shook and (piiver'd; 
A shatter'd wreck he soon became, 

With all his timber.s shiverM. 

Now Ma(;k liad many fortunes made. 

And many fortunes spent ; 
lUit Mrs. iMack gr^w rieiu'r diily. 

While he had not, a (U'lit. 

To cap the climax when Mack got cross, 

(She turned him out of doors, 
To get his dinners Avhere he could. 

Or crawl upon all fours. 



Jvl'd WKll'll'lN IN A l.AD't's 11 VMN-ltOOK. 

►So I Ilia iiccoiinis for nil liis vt'iioin 

And fiiinil y to woiiimii; 
lit' (MoiKilio.s like H umiiii'l do^ 

To st'c u woman coining. 



WRITTKN IN A LADY'S HYMN-BOOK, 



I|J|k1IIS hook to a latly hclonij^M, 
,"*^*| II. coiitaiiiB psalms ami pious hom^h 
Y ()!' Ilim wlio HiilVcrM many wrongs 

l<\)r sinl'iil man. 
I'smIimh of wiflilom, psalms of jn-ai^'c, 
IVulms to lead in virdic's ways, 
I'salms our drooping tlioiiglils to raise, 

Our ( Jod to scan. 
I'salms conlainiMg riglilcons riilos, 
I'salms iu''or I aught hy madnu-n fools, 
Ihit sages of Iho atioiont Echools 

Hi'visM (he plan. — 
May (liunkards in (heir mad career, 
And 111 eriines he .'•truck with awe sevi-re, 
May all p'lceive tlir>>tigh melinm clear 

Life's hut a span. 



f-C.)\((.>^^g)/l£>-3 



TJIK CZAH AND TilE TURK; 
Or, Tho Boar and The Turkey. (1834). 



Mf^i N I'lin'Opi^'K Northern rcgioiiH dwelt, ii lifiir, 
•Jyi 'I'lx' nioiiiircli ofiill bciirH, bhick, wlii'i- iir hrowii. 
If Known l)y tJio dii^nil'KMl tit.loof C/.ir, 

Who IVoin his li;uinl,H 'ini<l wools .ind snowa 
(;uni(! down 
Into l,li<' Hiinny South with Hulhiii IVovvn ; 
Resolved to j(or<;o hirnsoll" with koimc; ri(di fur-, 

I'MchIi, I'lMh, or fowl — Lhoii;^'h ho Hhonid h)KO liin crown, 
(iiown hohl t.hroiij^h hnn^^'f'.s Hlin;^8 he leiinjd noHimre, 
Nor any l)ejist, thiit. did inliiihit, there. 

IliH liordn, Vicero^H, KiiroiiH, iind I )iikeH coiiv<!ne, 

Wlio witli them all t.heir f-;eif'H iind vaHHids Ijring; 
l<'i'oin l\Hnit,KclmtJui to Kinhitid, all liet.we 'ti 

'I'lie three great scaf; — before their llrHini kin^ 

A)t|)(^ar -ready to do any bloody tiling 
ilin CzarHhip may eonimaud — Ibr thc^y are Ii ice, raw- 
boned and lean, 

"I'iH Haid tlK^ir Inuiks unto their bellicH cling, 
And booty \n the bait that tempts them to the Hcene 
Of strife and c.iiiuii^c, lik(! baibari.uis mean. 

Jn Southern Europe dwelt a 'J'urkey plump, 

'I'hu linest fowl that llrnus ever Haw, 
Well feathered, Hleek, and fat from beak to rump, 

And IJr.suH longed to reiueli him with \m paw, 

Despite tin; rules of int-ermitional law, 

How his mouth watered at so fine a hnnj>; 

lie vo.ved he'd eat him eitlu r cook"(l or raw, 

.!i37) 



2;2S 'Illl", C/AH ANI> 'I'll 10 TUKK. 

So .U)lniny Bull Jiiul John (-riipiMii might Mnuiip 
The board but. ho woiihl iiiakc the 'rmkoy jiiiup. 

IWiL hoKl, Kinj; Ursiis, whither nre you bound 
With such 11 lont:^ luul hoteropjonous (rain, 

Know you not that you iiro on IbrbiddcMi <;roundV 
You must be cra/.y, nmd, distractod in the brain, 
'Vo think that you can <j;ct that Turkey — in vain 

!i'ou least your eyes — Tiie Sultan's can<:,ht the sound, 
No doubt ho'll make an effort to maintain 

Tlis ri<:;hls^ — ^So you had better turn around, 

\'ou'll save a drubbini^ and numy a reeking wound. 

*• What vain preti'uder's that who calls us Bears ? 

He must iiave little sense and e'en less grace, 
Por wo are men, as well as he, who dares 

To villiry us thus — We're of the human race — 

What does he mean by such insinuations base? 
We are Christians, too — and whoe'er compares 

Our faith with that of Jslamism, may trace 
Ours to its divine origin, and theirs 
To hell for they are some of Mick's allairs. 

*' What is tlu'ir diabolic system worth, 

Their so-called prophet was an imp of hell 

J?y Satan or Heeh:ebub sent forth; 

"Who trained his savage heathen dogs so well 
l>or his own stM'vice, in course of time they (\uA\ 

The neigboring barbarous natives of the North, 
And e'en the (! reeks do they com})el 

To take their yoke, (irecians of noble birth — 

M'en now they'd spread their doctrine o'er the earth. 



•Illi: C/.AIt AND 'I'll I'] TIIItK. 220 

" (), (Jr('(;iiiii8 ! (Ircciiuis ! one mow. clloit- rniil<(! 

I*\)r l*'io('(l()m — Ho IVec uh were your uiuiciit sires — 
W(i nndorliikc, this Htrii^glo for your siiko; 

Wo iiiccl (he Hiibrea and the Sultan's fires 

III hopes to cruali llieir creHcciil.s uiid l-heir S[tire8, 
And t.licir hclliwh i(h)ljiLry to wliuko; 

Who(^ver roads their history, acquires 
A li!itr(Ml for them — Awake ! yo (J reeks, awake ! 
And on these (U)f^8 a tcnfohl ven^^eatiec take! 

'* 'J'he country once was your'n and ou^ht to be n^'din, 

Unjustly did the; wild barbarians soizo 
Upon it your iioblc! Hires were eitlwir slain 

ity Hvvord, by fatnine, or by ^riin disease, 

Or (IooiiumI (o bondage, deH[)ite their pleas 
Fov mercy -On yon, their sons, tlie chain 

Of Hiav'ry still (danks, and (!an you H'si at ease, 
When one who loves you is now upon the plain, 
b'eady your long-lost liberties to regain?" 

Why, who is that who'd fniedom advocate;? 

Is it old NieJiolas the autocrat? 
What will nut, ambitious man to (dc^vate 

Himself allciinpt? That old eliap will doll" his hat 

To poor degradeil slaves -Wag his head and chat 
With those whom Ik; inwardly (l()(%s hate; 

Iv'eininding owe. of the mouse and cat — 
Willi great pretcwisions, he would gull your pate, 
l>ul. in the end a dcu^per slavery must bo your fate. 

Whoever heard tin; like? Heli(;ve him not 

Ye (Greeks. 'Tis naught but vain hy[)o<!rigy — 
A deej)-laid scheme — a bloody, villainous j)lot — 



230 THE CZAR AND THE TURK. 

'Twere vain for you to hope to be set free 

l>y tlie greatest tyrant on land or sen; 
JIad he tlie power, there's not one spot 

Of earth were free, lias not he the liberty 
Of the Poles destroyed ? Yes, 'tis now their lot. 
In Siberia's barren wastes to rot. 

Ask Poland's fugitives, for well they know 
What was the fate of their once happy land; 

AYhat "was the cause of their untimely overthrow ? 
The tyrant of the North with ruthless hand 
O'erpowered them — Her valiant sons, a faithful band 

Were butchered without mercy by the foe, 

For bearing arms under their own King's command, 

Her cities overrun, ransacked, laid low, 

There's scarce a vestige of her former greatness now to 
show. 

Or ask Kossuth, for none can better tell 

What kind of monster is that same old Czar; 
Ask him what sad catastrophe befell 

Ilis brave Hungarian band. 0, the car 

Of despotism came rattling from afar 
Like Juggernaut, to crush them — or compel 

Their tame submission to the God of war. 
Who every spark of liberty would quell — 
King of the unlioly alliance, whom Satan could not e'en 
excell ! 

The Turk with quicknass musters all his force, 
Who courageously are standing on their guard. 

And bid defiance to Czar's foot and horse, 

And Johnny Bull, and John Crapeau have bent the 
vard 



THE CZAR AND THE TURK. 231 

For Euxine, the Turks integrity to warJ; 
Are screaming till their lungs and throats are hoarse, 

To fright the'shag:^y bear — Threatening to bom'jard 
His strongest citadel, and raze the source 
And headquarters of all his intercourse.* 

The cry of war was heard throughout the lani ; 

Nick makes a halt on the Danubian shore, 
Eyeing and mana3uv'ring on the fertile strand. 

The Sultan by the Holy Prophet swore, 

Ile'd drive them back, or never fight them more. 
Omar Pasha assumes the head command, 

Who with his little valiant band did pour 
Their bullets and missiles on every hand. 
Until the Ursine host could not the shock withstand. 

But Czar declares he'll not give up the sport, 

E'en when his forts and fastnesses are gone; 
He'll serve them like he served old Bonaparte, 

If they should penetrate and follow on 

To Moscow's walls — For want of shelter they shall run 
And frost, and lead, and steel, shall make them smirt; 

The wolf shall feed upon the carcass and the bone — 
But, will the allies on such a campaign start? 
No, Czar, thy projects surely they will thwart. 

"But," says the Czar, " we yet can beat them all. 

The Cannibals to take advantage thus. 
For Uncle Sam will aid us when we call. 

With nil his force — His men are valorous. 

And if they'll keep John Bull's bull-dogs in use. 
There's not a post round all my coast shall fall. 

With their cohorts they cannot conquer us, 

* Subastopol. 



232 THE CZAH AND TH K TURK. 

For Sum can make their JUill to bawl. 

And I, the Crapeaii, and the Turk will gall." 

An tiVort now he makes with all his host; 

With Menchikoff and others in the lead, 
With a view to drive the British from their post. 

Now every man and every sword and steed 

Come rushing on with secrecy and speed ; 
Now Bull, despite thy everlasting boast, 

Thou must give way — Thy valiant men must bleed^ 
And e'en the troops thou vainest the most, 
In this severe encounter must be lost. 

But no, they stand their ground Avith tlrmness still. 

And fixed determination not to yield; 
Although the forts the Avild barbarians till, 

No socner landed than their doom is sealed; 

Not one of Johnny's sons wo\ild leave the Held. 
O, Menchikoff! they batlle all thy skill; 

Thy JMuscovites although their breasts were steel'd, 
Could not drive them— Behold the Britons pierce and kill. 
The Cossacks fly — Come on, ye French, with right good 
will ! 

" Well done, my gallant soldiers — well done — 

Bravo! bravo! " is Lord Baglan's cry; 
•' The victory, my noble lads, is won. 

Now follow on, and shoot them as they fly; 

Chastise them well for their temerity, 
Mercy is folly — Onward! onward! on! 

Though thousands of your noble comrades die. 
Old England shall reward you, every one, 
And honor you when you are dead and gone ! " 



THE CZAR AND THE TURK. 233 

O, Czar ! 0, Nicholas ! recall the threat 

Thou at the onset made — Can'st thou believe 
That thou'rt unconquerable, invulnerable'yet ? 

Vain boast, vain thought — That thou can'st still 
retrieve 

Thy many irreparable losses — And achieve 
New victories. Ah, no, thou shalt regret 

Thy I'ashness, and eventually perceive 
Thy folly — for thou shalt find thyself beset 
With diiliculties thou shalt not soon forget. 

At Balaklava the Bears are beat, 

And on the heights of Inkerman, too. 
At Kertsch they also suffer a defeat, 

On land and sea reverses now ensue; 

But still Sebastopol held out, and drew 
The gaze of all the world. And many a feat 

Out of the contumacious contest grew. 
" You shall not have it," says the Czar with heat; 
" You can not take it," says Sam's press on every sheet. 

" But we will try again," says Johnny Bull, 

"We'll take it yet," with zeal, says John Orapeau, 
Bombs, rockets, shells, a dreadful story tell, 

Deal death on every hand and strew 

Destruction round. And mangled carcasses do show 
The horrors of the scene. Each trench is full ; 

The cup of rage is made to overflow; 
The clank of arms goes on without a lull, 
And fiends infest and furiate the skull. 

But hark ! in midst of all this strife— when drums 
Are beating to the charge, and horrors still increase, 

20* 



T>\\ 'I'll !•: c/.A i; A N I) Til !■; i im;k. 

Wlu-M ] ('111 oil pciil rcHoiiiulH, uimI ilt'iully hoinl)9 
\vo llyiii^ in (lio iiir liko Hocks of <j;(>obo, 
In coinoH tlio liilc of Nii^lioliis' iUhiohso; 

Oil li<',lilMiii!^'rt wings i\\v iiirornmlion (M)inos, 

"I'is |10slt'(l lo lliul IVo, tl si'Ml (>r ])(<ll('('. 

In London iinil in rnris Iiiuj'lilcr Ininis, 
'rin'ic's inirlli Hiiil Iciistin!; in I he IVstjil i-oonis. 

Hilt viiiii >oiir jovM, iind vnin tlit> ninsir's (oiu', 
As llio old cock crows, so crows (lie ynni!; one. 
Another Cziir is dcviitcd to llu» llironc, 
Tlio great eiogo of Subiistopol ^oos on, 
hcspilo llii> wish of princes ])ro and c(ni ; 
A tVi ^^h impt'tns is ^i\cn to the stone ; 
And now with shot and shell tliey tail n|n>ii 
Tiie poor devoted hand, and alill unknown 
Tilt" result all thon«',hls of peact* have llown. 

Mut scarce a t welv<-ni(>nlh i^[' th(> new leii'^u is past ; 

The clanking sound of niins h:is died ; 
'1 h(> storm is o\m\ no inon> is heard the war trump's 1>1 ast 

All's isiihsided as the ehliin;' oi' the tiile; 

The ii.Mii!',hly (' ;ir wiioni iirroi-anct* and priih> 
Had elevated hi<',h, is now tlowncast. 

Seliastoptd, the wonder of all nations tar and wide, 
The uucoiupioralde lortres-i is fallen mI last. 
And lu's in ashes now a ruined wasti>. 



" ^"^'^^^^ 



'li)S> 



THE WHIP-POOR-WILL. 



l^pAUK! tlie Whip-poor-will, 
*^-^ Willi voice so shrill, 

Has returned to us again; 
Our solitude to cheer. 
To tell U8 spring is here, 
To plough and sow our grain. 

Welcome, welcome, bird, 
May thy sweet voice be hearJ, 

In the calm eventide, 
When seated at our door, 
Our daily labor o'er, 

All cares are laid aside. 

But whither hast thou been, 
Through the long winter scene? 

Hast seen the land ol" canes ? 
Hast seen the blacks 
With naked backs, 

Lab'ring on the plains? 



(2:i5) 



it 



IN A DROUGHT. 

AY uftor diiy, eve after eve, 

111 hopes to see some rain, 
Intently have I gazed upon 
The clouds, hut gazed in vaui. 

I've seen them floating to and fro, 

Blue, purple, green or red, 
Of every variegated hue. 

And every shape and shade. 

Some light and ileecy, gently horn^ 

Like smoke hefore the wind, 
And others of great gravity. 

Like craggy rocks hehind. 

Some dark and heavy, tunihling forth, 

As sluggish in their motion. 
As heavy-freighted Indian ships, 

Hard straining on the ocean. 

Rut all in vain, tliey bring no rain. 
They roll, tumble, llutter by, 

With all their hopeful tokens fraught, 
To mock the gazer's eye. 

'IMie earth hcrself's submerged in dust, 

All vegetation's sighing, 
VVither'd and drooping is the earn, 

The herbage all is dying. 

The world is gasping for a shower. 

(•im\) 



THE INDIAN'S APPEAL. 237 

THE MISSIONARY'S APPEAL TO THE INDIAN. 



('OME along with me, my poor Indian brave, 
L*^ come along with me — will you come — 
iP To the land of the Whites, beyond Atlantic's wave. 
Where the stranger finds a welcome and a home ? 

Where sciences and arts — instead of missiles and darts — 
Are well understood and taught in our schools; 

Where happiness and peace, grow, flourish, and increase,, 
Where everything is done in order, and by rules. 

leave your forest home, leave your savage life, 
And never shall you want for comfort or for friends : 

The war-whoop's ne'er heard, nor combat, nor strife, 
But harmony and love o'er our land extend. 



THE INDIAN'S APPEAL. 

Wishing to Return to His Native Land. 



pg STRANGER in a strange land, whither shall 

If O carry me back to the land of my birth ; 

0, white man ! 0, white man ! your trumpery and 
show 
Have no charms for me — Tiiey'ro trilles of no 
worth. 



238 A COMPARISON" BETWEEN 

You're welcome to them all, I envy you not, 
Give me back my wigwam, never more to roam ; 

No waters are so sweet, no venison so gODcl, 

No scenery so beautiful as round my native horn 3. 

I had a young squaw of so symmetrical a mould, 
Like a water lily, so beautiful and cha3te; 

What would I not give once more to behold 
The mate of my boyhood, these arms have oft embraced. 

And shall we ne'er again have th3 happiness and joy. 
Each other to embrace as we did long ago. 

Or chase the bounding fawn, or buffalo decoy, 
Beside our native stream where water lilies grow ? 



A COIPARISOI BETWEEK IHCIEHTS IKD MODERNS. 



pl^OU praise the Ancients, as if they alone 
^^ Knew all that ever was, or could be known — 
T| To underrate their talents, we forbear, 

But will they with our modern geniuses compare ? 
Let us for once inquire — First their commerce 
To narrow limits was confined — Averse 
Were they to leave the shore — And if by chance 
Their bark was driven from land their fears for utterance 
Were great. They grop'd back their devious way 
Like mud-turtles on a sammer day. 

They shunned with fear the climate of the North, 
As inhospitable to life, and of no worth. 
The Torrid Zone to them aho appeared 



ANCIENTS AND MODERNS. 239 

Unfit for mai), and so was shunn'd and fear'd. 
The art of printing was unknown ; and steam 
A trifling vapor in their eyes did seem : 
They knew naught of its giant strength, 
The many purposes it has at length 
Been applied to by the Moderns. 

What have the Moderns done ? You well may ask. 
Much — Which, to describe would be a tedious task. 
The art of printing is one of their acts, 
By which books, papers, pamphlets, and good tracts 
Are printed, and throughout the land are sent forth, 
Enlightening every corner of the earth. 

They found and proved the wondrous powers of steam. 
Of which the ancient sages did not dream; 
They found and peopled the Western Hemisphere: 
They're adding new discoveries ev'ry year. 

'Tis strange to see how fast the world is going. 
At what a rapid rate human genius is growing, 
What wonders man in modern days has wrought! 
A plan's conceived 'tis done as quick as thought. 

What would the ancients think — Would they not stare 
To see our balloons sailing through the air. 
Or floating castles whizzing o'er the ocean. 
With lightning speed, to lands of which they hud no 
notion ? 

How could they e'er believe their eyes to see 
Our iron horses in this land of liberty 
Whizz by them like a hurricane of wind, 



340 ON" A PASSIONATE WOMAN". 

With Eev'ral hundred tons of freight behind ; 
Or thousand passengers to land in distant town, 
As if shot from cannon, and unharmed laid down ? 

Again the telegraph among our modern things. 
Outstrips all animals with legs or wings ; 
A man in Boston hails his friend in New Orleans, 
Asks how cotton sells, or how the market is for beans. 



OK A PASSIONATE WOMAN. 



|HOU woulds't not deem it possible, 

That beauty of a woman, 
With flowing robes and gaudy dresses. 

With rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes, 
Could have so vile a tongue. 

Thou woulds't esteem her as the pink 
Of purity and virtue — For lo ! 

Her heart — which is as black as ink — 
Appears as white as snow. 

The slightest touch ignites her passion. 
The slightest breeze will fan the flame, 

Which threatens total destruction 
To her corporeal frame. 



01 A TATTLIIS, MISCHIEF-MAKIKS WOMAH. 



^|i^H AT now ? What's wrong with that crazy woman ? 
^^ There's something in her surpassing comm )n ; 
tf Her brain she racks — Her tongue she tasks with 
labor, 
To blast and villify some peaceful neighbo ■. 

For when she hears a story, 

To magnify it is her glory ; 

A fly with her becomes a crow, 

A mouse into an elephant will grow. 

And hillocks small into large mountains grow, 
And rivers large from small fountains flow, 
And such a pride has she for telling, 
Give her a wink she'll leave her dwelling. 

The public organ of scandal and lies, 
How she creates, is a matter of surprise ; 
She ne'er was yet at the end of her wits. 
And like the sponge, she nothing pure emits. 

Her eye and ear materials supply; 

Her fancy fabricates the lie ; 

A larger stock is nowhere to be found; 

Her restless tongue peddles the stuflT around. 

What man who comes within the range, 
Of her displeasure and revenge, 
That does not hear his name defam'd. 
And all his virtues, vices named. 

21 (241) 



243 ON A TATTLING, MISCHIEF-MAKING WOMAN. 

If he's industrious, and inclined to save, 
At once she calls him rogue and slave; 
If free and sociable to womankind, 
A fornicator, adulterer, or both combin'd. 

If he to some Christian Church be join'd, 
He's a hypocrite of the most flagrant kind ; 
But if not in the Church's catalogue, 
Why he's a cursed heathen dog. 

If, on the other hand, he walk erect, 
And Siren's wiles have no effect 
To corrupt his morals, or to shake his faith, 
Or to draw him out of virtue's path, 
E'en then, he can't escape her curse; 
He's a selfish churl or something worse. 

And woe to her wlio may her Highness vex, 

She has no mercy on her tender sex ; 

Though harmless as the babe unborn, the maid, 

All sorts of sins to her charge are laid, 

And thief, liar, adulteress, all these 

Drop from her tongue with perfect ease. 

Whence comes it that her feelings are so delicate. 
Is she the offspring of the rich and great, 
That all like slaves should bow the knee. 
And crouch like spaniel dog at her decree ? 

As regards her eyes — they might as well be blind, 
They see things falsely — misinform the mind ; 
Her ear — it might as well be deaf, 
Eor 'tis the medium of a false belief. 



ON- AMERICA; OR, THE UNITED STATES. 243 

Her tongue — it might as well be dumb, 
For 'tis, of all things, the most troublesome ; 
'Tis so unruly 'twill not tell the truth, 
Excepting by mistake, forsooth. 



OH AMERICA ; OR, THE UNITED STATES. (1854.) 



SlORIOUS country of the West ! 



e^#, Fortunate country, above all others blest 
It With political liberty — Wise institutions. 
Free from intestine troubles and pollutions. 

Thou hast a never-failing source 
Of wealth in public lands — Thy intercourse 
With foreign lands augments^thy income, too, 
Which, with economy, all purposes may do. 

Thou'rt not obliged to tax the industry of thy sons, 
And drain their hearts' blood despite their groans. 
To maintain in majesty thy sway; 
Or prop a rotten peerage — or display 
An unrivalled splendor in thy courts. 

Thy sons are valiant, intelligent and wise, 
Proud of freedom — ever ready to chastise 
Their enemies. They need no monarch's frown, 
Or bugbear, to frighten them to keep them down. 

They worship their Maker as they see fit. 
They're not oppressed — Kor will they e'er submit 
To superstition's law — Nor in reverence bow the knee 
To stocks and stones at tyrants' mad decree. 



344 TO JOHN S. IIOBINSON. 

We're blessed with plenteousness throngliout our land, 

Prosperity and peace go hand in hand. 

In literature — The sciences and arts, 

We're not behind the world, or those of foreign i)arts. 

Our statesmen ever have great honors sharM, 
With those of other lands may be compar'd; 
Our public works are on the grandest scale; 
Our locomotives lly through every glen an! dale; 
A proposition's made — 'Tis hoped it may not fail, 
To connect the two great oceans with iron rail. 
So we may well sa}*, '' Go ahead." 



mt» «- 



TO JOHN S. ROBINSON. 



^p^IlEN we were in our teens, John, 
'M^' The times were not as now, 
jf Then, matrons plied the spinning-wheel. 
And farmers drove tlie plough; 
And maidens thought it was but play 
To feed and milk a cow. 

'Twas forty years ago, John, 
Ah ! how the years roll on ; 

As constant as the ocean waves, 
■ They follow one by one; 

Ere we can designate the spot, 
Like meteors they are gone. 

Those glorious times are pass'd, John, 

We'll never see them more; 
Yet it behooves us to look back, 



TO JOHN S. ROBINSON. 245 

As oft we've done before, 
Upon the rugged winding paths, 
That we have travell'd o'er. 

While we are on the heights, John, 

Ere further we advance, 
Let us sit down and rest awhile. 

And take a backward glance; — 
But doesn't it make you dizzy, John, 

'J^o view the vast expanse ? 

Away off in the distance, John, 

Behold yon spot so green. 
With here and there a mansion grand. 

And dewy meads between. 
And shady walks and flow'ry dales. 

Which beautify the scene. 

There's where we spent our youth, John — 

Ah ! Nature then was young; 
Our days pass'd over rapidly. 

As merry as a song ; 
Like two young lambs we knew no guilt, 

Kor dreamed of right and wrong. 

In front of that old mansion, John, 

That green bank do yo.u see ? — 
There's where we used to romp and play. 

And laugh so merrily ; 
Gymnastic exercises, then, 

Were sport for you and me. 

Old Brandywine still flows, John ; — 
His waters clear and bright 

21* 



246 TO JOHN S. UOBINSON. 

]\lcamler tlirougli the valley still, 
As when they first saw light ; 

Tliere's no impression made on liim, 
By Time's resistless fiight. 

There's where we bath'tl and boated, John ; 

There was onr chief resort; 
'Twas there we learn'd to swim and dive ; — 

Ah, that was pleasant sport — 
And there we fish'd for eels and trout 

And fish of ev'ry sort. 

In winter time we skated, John; 

And proud of that were we, 
For ladies young and beautiful. 

Were sometimes there to see; 
And when we tumbl'd on the ice, 

They laugh'd right merrily. 

But where is tliat old mill, Jolm, 

A\^e work'd in many a day, 
Among the black and greasy wool ? — 

They told us it was play, 
Yet, though it was not heavy work, 

We long'd to be away. 

And when the water-wheel stopp'd, John, 

We laid aside all care; 
And that old mill was soon deserted, 

And not a soul was there, 
For belter skelter out we rush'd. 

To breathe the balmy air. 

Is that old mill gone down, John ? 
I see it not — dost thou ? 



TO JOHN S. ROBIKSON". 247 

Put on thy specks and look again — 

Dost tliou not see it now ? 
"Ah, no I " — I fear'J it was gone down; 

All tilings to Time must bow. 

There's where our journey started, John ; 

Ah ! what a tramp we've had ; 
Through highways and through by-ways, 

We've tugg'd and toil'd, my lad ; 
But so far we've got safely through. 
And may we not be glad? 

Some chums who with us started, John, 

Grew faint upon the way ; 
IIow loath were we to part with them ! 

But oh ! we could not stay ; 
They begg'd of us to leave them there, 

We'd meet some other day. 

But oh ! we have not met them yet; 

Shall we meet them evermore ? 
Ah ! something tells us that we shall 

Upon the other shore, 
When our long journey's ended, John, 

And all our toil is o'er. 



TO MR 

Instructing Him how to Gain the Affections of the 
Idol upon Whom He had Fixed His Love. 



|» ALli her the prettiest, 



*7l 



rAlso tlie \vittiest, 
Of iill the hidiea you have seen; 
(Jo to her si<:!;hin<j;, 
And say you're dying 

In love. OiiU her the Queen 
Of each fanciful desire, 
Say that you admire 

Her glowing countenance serene; 
And that you e'en adore 
Tiie <;;ra3S .she travels o'er, 

And fancy it a livelier green. 

Ami if all this don't win her. 
Excite a passion in her, 

And draw from her a world of sighs; 
And though thou do hut flatter. 
If she don't guess the nuitter. 

And read love in thy eyes, 
Why post me for a liar. 
Or hang me with a brier. 



(948) 



THE POOR HALF-FAMISHED QUAIL. 



HHIWAS in the stillness ol'ii wood, 
^'^i Before the day was light; 

j When all the landscape round iibout 
Was shrouded thick with white. 

Where many a sage old oak, 

Had stood the surging gale ; 
I heard the lamentations of 

A poor, half-famished quail. 

Three days before he'd been deprived 

Of his long-cherished mate; 
Which gave his heart a greater pang 

Than cold and hunger great. 

The sportsman — 0, the wicked wretch, 

Who could commit such deed ! 
may his hardened heart relent, 

Like mine, in pity Ldeed! 

E'en now he's at his deadly sport, 

E'en now I hear a twang ; 
Who can be so insensible 

As to intiict such pang? 

O haniiless bird, with innocence 

Depicted in your face, 
Wiiy all this strife of wicked man, 

This war against your race? 

(2l») 



250 THE AGED TURTLE. 

Well may ye tremble at the sound 
Which makes your numbers kss; 

Well may ye run at sight of man, 
Who laughs at your distress. 

Sweet birds to rouse the tyrant's ire, 
Have ye done any hurt? 

"Alas! we've given him no offence, 
He kills for wanton sport." 



THE AGED TURTLE. 



ti^b TUETLE, worn with age, who scarce could trudge 
Sy^ About the rocks and hills of Summer Lodge ; 
y A relic of the cent'ry gone and past, 
And of the patriarchs, I fear the last; — 
An ancient mark upon his shell he bore, 
Which proved him of a century's growth or more ; 
Still clung to life, poor, decrepit creature. 
An exemplification of our own nature ; 
And wheresoever man appeared in sight. 
He lefc and seemed to shun him with affright; 
And toddled off as swiftly as he could. 
And hid himself 'neath rocks and rotten wood. 
What was the cause? I hoped he'd no oppressors; — 
Was't unkind treatment from my predecessors ? 

But kindness woos the animal from his den ; 
The turtle's confidence fain would I win; 
Fain would I understand his history; 
So long a life must interesting be. 



THE AGED TURTLE. 251 

One day when tugging, sweating at my plow, 

Upon the mountain's rough and rugged brow, 

In danger oft, myself, my plow, and steers, 

Of falling o'er the precipice — I had fears — 

I stopped my steers to give them time to blow, 

And wiped the perspiration from my brow, 

And sat me down beneath a sassafras. 

When venerable turtle chanced to pass : 

But seeing me, a mortal, close at hand, 

He would have left had I not made him understand 

By signs and motions, that I was his friend, 

On whom for sympathy he could depend. 

Now, by degrees his shyness wore away, 
And he was talkative, and content to stay ; 
And as the experience of so old a head 
May profit you, I'll tell you what he said. 

THE TURTLE'S STORY. 

Thousands of times have I beheld yon light 

Which now hangs o'er our heads, and shines so bright, 

And darts his rays with such vehemence down, 

Else from behind yon rugged mountain's crown ; 

As often have I seen him disappear 

Behind that mountain on our left so near ; 

And many summers have roll'd o'er my head, 

At close of which I sought my winter bed. 

To shield myself from cold beneath the ground. 

Till warmer suns should bring the fruitful seasons round. 

'Twas in that vale spread wide before our view, 
'Twas in that vale where first myself I knew; 
I knew not then, nor did I even care, 
From whence I came, nor why I was placed there. 



25'^ THK Av5Kn TVUri.K. 

Qiiiu* jXTt was 1. and vjiiu ;k< I \v;u< pov:. 
l>riiiht ^^'J^s luy $lioll. nnd fiw tVom tiUh. or dirt, 
And shono bright a^ u bran now ov>ppor kottlo, 
Or like a dinner boll of burnished metal. 

Nor. did I loaru till voars had OvMno ai\d >:ouo 
1 was the otV-isprins? of an ejij:; hatched in tl\o jsun. 
0. happy days I 8o little caiv 1 tVU ! 
In innocent security, 1 dwelt. 

That vale \v;vs thou a forest, wivlo and iiroon. 
Of stately oaks, and smaller lives botweon; 
And balmy and rolVoshiug' was the broo.'.e. 
That iTontly siiihod amid those verdant tives. 
How plo;isant 'twasi when in the heat of day, 
I foujul a shelter tVom the sun's llorco ray I 

The Ked Men often made it their retreat. 
And 'neath the brauohiuii- boughs thoy drossM their meal 
Oft held their councils, on mv pasture iirouuds, 
About thoir battles or their hunting bounds. 

And many tales of love could 1 unfold. 

About young maidens and youuij Indians bold. 

AVho came to bathe themselves in (hat clear stream: 

They wove as cheerful as the mornini:^ beam: 

But, like myself, thoy wore too frolicsome. 

To dream of darksonu^ days which soon must oome. 

As aji'o came on, as years ii\croasod, thoy brought 
Fresh cares, experience many a lesson taught; 
Much strife took place between Ked Men and White. 
And numbers wore o'erpoworod in tight. 



The Jn/iiATi ha/} avtrr \>*tftn my fr'ihrA; 

Vrom li'tm I hwl uh hurrn Uj apf.r<;h';n'J ; 

My nyrnp'^^hy wan on thn lU-zi Man'a fcid*-, 

i'tut iha Whiter carrifj on with quick, j(igantic itrid^, 

>A«! pMrwi of rain and hail corne rti*,h'iTi(/ \>j, 

i'f)f>r Indian, at U;ui/ih, wni>. farcM Ut fly. 

Yhi thofjgh rhftulpM, tin(\nautM, rjndi«may</!, 
Kirrn wa« inx purpv^-, a«« hin <yjtjnt/;nan% iW^pWyfA ; 
J pjaw t,h<; /riark^j of v<;n;^<^ncft in hi;* look; 
JJ'; ground hi» t>->;th, hia t^/rnahawk hfe sh^xA, 
Tcnaciorj/j)y di/iputing ^;vorjr inch of ground, 
Jjf/Jging fronj tr'y^ to tree till in the Ahianaa H'xfA th<* 
Jtound. 

And wh';n in affc/jr y-arn h*- cam'; to vic^' 
'/')]'; ^'/x-ne?, of earJy daya, and rcvVence do 
To hia c^/tnirtitilom' prravcn, ha talked of fights 
And crrjcl wronga he HuiP-.r'-A from ih<: \Vhit/;?». 

At length a stranger carne and bought thi.? land, 
WhoH'; habits I ry^uld never under«tand, 
A T()nu(i-i''A('jA man wan he, who jahb'ir'd rnach, 
In a hinguage which aft/;rwarda I found wa^> l)a'/;h, 

A iuUi hanj^ from hi« rnouth, long a;i your arm, 
Which he 'Ji;jplayed in ev'ry c^irner of hia farm; 
II'; burned th*; iogfj, the nmoke a«c^;nded high, 
And many hair-brea'lth^ eneafje^ ha/i J. 
F';)f,y Am»pa^;iior, f.»r that waa hi« name. 
And KixU;, li'iH/raw, tugg'jd hard the wilda to tame. 
With axe and rnatt/x;k, with oxen and with plow, 
TJntil the gweat in drop« hung on each brow. 

22 



So* THE AGED TURTLE. 

In some few years they laid the forest low, 
Those stately oaks that made so fine a show : 
The sight of such great havoc made me sad, 
I pitied the trees, and thought the Dutchman mad. 
I slyly watched him with a sullen frown, 
In hopes to see the hills turn upside down ; 
It made me quake to hear him halloo, " whoa !" 
And the sound of his axe, did frighten me so. 

It would have been the wisest plan and best 
Had I but emigrated to the West; 
My truest friends, the Indians, were gone, 
""Twere madness now to emigrate alone; 
And obstacles precluded ev'ry chance; 
Could I elude the White man's vigilance ? 
Which way soe'er I turned I saw the smoke 
Ascending high, and heard the axe's stroke ; 
And when at last my vain attempt I made, 
Though fervently to the Great Spirit I pray'd, 
With all my secrecy and all my haste, 
With these short legs I could not travel fast. 

However, I sustained but little loss, 

Till at a creek, which baffled all my skill to cross ; 

Here was a dreadful fix — Should I retrace 

My footsteps, to run my earthly race, 

And end my days where my first breath I drew ? 

►I liked this not, but what else could I do? 

My ill success constrain'd me then to mourn ; 

Yet an inward monitor seemed to say "return." 

But even this impracticable seem'd. 

Until a lucky thought upon me gleam'd, 

AVhich was, that if there was no other way, 

J'd travel in the night, and hide myself by day. 



THE AGED TURTLE. 255 

But even this like other projects failed ; 
Oft in my hiding-place was I assail'd, 
And as a spy falsely was I accused, 
And roughly handled, too, and much abus'd. 
One man enslaved me — And to prove his claim 
Carved on my shell the initials of his name: 
But, thanks to Providence, one lucky day 
While he was gone from home I sneak'd away. 

Still, was I baffled by contrary wind, 
And for some years and seasons could not find 
My home. On one occasion, I recollect, 
Crossing a brook, when I was a' most wreck'd. 

This was upon a sultry summer day; 
My course was o'er a fallen tree, which lay 
Bridge-like across the brook, from side to side, 
Where numberless mud-turtles sat astride. 
Prepared by force my passage to dispute: — 
I fought them hard, but they were resolute. 

I must confess I was completely beat — 
Some half a dozen seized me by the feet; 
Alas ! with such a ducking did they treat me, 
And so enraged were they I fear'd they'd eat me, 
AVith their success they seemed so much elated, 
But I shut my shell, and all their plans frustrated. 

But, oh, my fears in such a situation — 

I cannot now express my agitation. 

Had they but killed me then and set me free, 

Insteal of torturing me so cruelly, 

It would have been a great relief to me. 



X56 THE AGED TURTLE. 

It makes me shudder even now to think 

TTpon that dreadful day — the final link 

Was well nigh cut — Such weight was on my back, 

I really thought this shell of mine would crack. 

And oh, the awful horrors of the deep ! 

The shrimps and wiggle-waggle tails that cree]). 

All at this dry land Turtle came to peep; 

0, it grieved me so I couldn't help but W3ep. 

In such an element I could not long subsist. 
It seemed as if I was in a suffocating mist; 
A dreadful rumbling noise was in my ear3 ; 
My eyes grew dim, I was oppressed with fears. 

There, helpless in the awful deep, I lay, 
But how long, I know not e'en to this day. 
Ten thousand strange presentiments did gore me^ 
Ten tliousand hideous spectres passed before me. 
Until a deep unconsciousness came o'er mo. 

At K iigth, I felt a most tremendous shock, 

Like the explosion of some mighty rock ; 

And opening wide my mouth, my ears, my eyp, 

I found myself on terra firma high. 

A fiftlier boy, whom I shall e'er adore, 

Had dragged me up and cast me on the shore. 

I thanked the fellow o'er and o'er again. 

For the great kindness which he did me then. 

I minded not the dreadful shock he gave. 

Since he had sav'd me from a watery grave. 

And from mud-turtles, shrimps, and crawling things. 

From long, lank, legless birds, with speckled wings. 



THE AGED TURTLE. 257 

]iut of all beasts I ever saw or met, 
The vile mud-tnrtle I shall ne'er forget; 
And ne'er will I till 'neath the clods I'm cold, 
With such infernal pests communion hold. 

AVith many more adventures did I meet; 
Long did I wander ere I set my feet 
A^ain on Felty's place — And when upon it, 
All was so changed — I never should have known it. 
The rocks were there, but the hills were bare ; 
And that clear stream — Thank God, there are no snap- 
pers there — 
Still rolled along as beautiful as ever, 
Winding its course towards the mighty river. 

Now, on this place for many years I've been. 

And many changes in its ownership I've seen ; 

And many incidents could I relate. 

Both of an early and a later date. 

Felty Amspacher left it long ago, 

But what became of him I do not know. 

Seigfried Snyder next lived here prosp'rously, 

And raised a much respected family; 

But ah ! so many years since then have fled, 

I fear that both these gentlemen are dead. 

And next I recollect one Yawcob came. 
But he was weak, and couldn't hold his claim. 
The sheriff came and served him with a writ, 
The farm was sold, and Yawcob had to quit. 

And then Lorenz Strayer took the thing in hand, 
And no one better knew the worth of land ; 

23* 



258 THE AGED TURTLE. 

He dug the scrubby oaks both high and low, 
To give the forest trees a chance to grow. 

John Miller next lived here for sev'ral years; 
He was a thrifty farmer, as appears : 
He raised good corn without manure or bones ; 
Folks said he cover'd it with sods and stones. 

But Christy Wolf I'm sure succeeded best; 
He made more money clear than all the rest; 
But this was done by butchering calves and sheep^ 
And I've been told he always bought them cheap. 

So, Christy lived an independent life; — 

He had no family, except a wife. 

But he had a sort of foster son called Jerry; — 

This raw-bon'd lad was seldom in a hurry. 

But Jerry was a safe and steady boy, 

As Christy ever had in his employ; 

I pitied him because he was so slim: 

And Christy was not always kind to him, 

I've seen him walk as if he were asleep; 

Then he would tell his troubles to the sheep ; 

And oftentimes I heard him sob and sigh. 

But then I did not like to ask him why. 

That Christy whipped him I had cause to fear. 

For Christy was both sullen and severe. 

I always had a great respect for Jerry, 

And when he left I was extremely sorry; 

For he was ever sociable to me, 

Oft played with me when Christy did not see ; 

And many a pleasant chat had we together 

About the growing crops and pleasant weather 

But Christy had no great respect for me; 



ON VIEWING FISHING CREEK VALLEY. 250 

Nor did I care for him, for I was free, 
He had no cause to treat me thus with scorn, 
For I was on this place ere he was born. 
When I first saw you resting in that shade, 
I thought 'twas Christy, and I was afraid. 

And now, friend Martin, I have told you more 
Than e'er I told to any one before. 
Thanks to your kindness, and your patience, too, 
That you could bear so long an interview — 
Perhaps the last — My course is well nigh run ; 
Probably when the present season's gone, 
I shall go to my long, last sleep — " The sleep 
That knows no waking" — But none will weep 
When I am gone. Farewell, my friend, farewell, 
I've outlived my contemporaries. 



SUSSESTED OK YIEWINS FISHINS CREEK YALLET, 
From a Point near Sterrett's Gap, Perry Co., Pa. 



^^^Y eye from mountain-top surveys 
^^ The winding vale, with rugged sides, 
tr The brook that skips along and plays. 
Increasing as along it glides. 

Imbibing riv'lets, fountains, springs, 
Till after num'rous meanderings. 
Its waters in the Susquehanna are toss'd 
Thence in the Atlantic Ocean are lost. 



2()() YOll'ltl'; (IICniNO ItAII) ANI> OKAY, MAN. 

'Tia ('iiit)Iiuii!it,i(!al of inorliil luiiii ; 
1m iiol. Ik* i)r(»<>rcasin;^' Hpiiii hy Hpiiii, 
IiuncHHiiig ill ciipaciLy, 

Till swallowed in eternity r* 



» ra t— »- 



YOU'lvK GKTTiNG BALU AND GkAV, MAM. 



T'^jliffoU'lkK L't'ttiii;' baltl aiul i'vay, niaii, 
And well yoii know 'tis so; 
JiiHt let nio cull thoao few white Imirp, 
To hIiow you tlmt tlu^y grow. 

Yon'ru blooniinij; Tor the grave, man, 

A fact you also know ; 
Your raven locks arc* turning white, 

V^our saiulH arc getting low. 

Your fai;e ia getting wrinkU-d, man, 
'JMie bloom ban h^ft your cheek; 

Your head is bowing down, man, 
Your lega are getting weak. 

Hut such is i'ato — Age will come on, 
So grieve not o'er the theme; 

I, too, am dooin'd — Together we 
Are gliding down the stream. 



=^^*^^^^ 



MORE SNOW, MORE SNOW. 



^^I^OllE snow, more snow, what mighty heaps of snow ;. 
^^p" The skies like darksome mibts appear, 
t| The Hakes pervade the atmosphere, 

There's an extended sheet of white below. 

The orb of day from mortal man is hid. 
The skies seem sullenly to weep — 
All nature green is covered deep 

Beneath the feathery bed. 

No carriage-wheels I hear — No mortal souiuf 
Breaks through the stillness of the morn, 
The feathery tribe are mute — forlorn — 

O'er earth prevails a seriousness profound. 

The fruit trees, and the stately forest tree.?, 
A melancholy aspect wear, 
Naked, exposed, save here and there 

A solitary leaf is trembling in the breeze. 

From rural cot behold the curling smoke ascend,. 

Which speaks of warmth and life within, 

And inmates ready to begin 
Their toils, and with their destiny contend. 

The rustic swain in homespun habit rude, 
Goes plunging through the depths of white. 
To where his beasts through the long night, 

Shiv'ring, have stood in humble attitude. 

(201) 



263 MORE SXOW, MORE SNOAV. 

At his approach iVoin stable and from stall, 
Issues a low, expressive sound, 
The quadrupeds with joy profound, 

For their accustomed provender, do call. 

The frugal housewife comes forth now, 
Ever smiling in the midst of cares, 
A milk-pail and some meal she be:irs, 

Intended for some fav'rite cow. 

The hens come cackling, one by one. 
Anxious to have their wonted feed. 
The snow, however, retards their speed, 

Their gait is half a lly and half a run. 

The schoolhouse at the corner of the wood, 

Solitary and alone does stand. 

Where sits the tutor like some monarch grand, 
Secure from cold, or storm, or ilood. 

The schoolboys, aye, on play and pleasure bent. 

And often prone to disobey. 

Though urged to hasten, are lingering on the way, 
And sporting with the feathery element. 

Methinks it were a happy task, 

To train the youthful mind, 

In rural district unconfin'd; 
What humble man could higher callins: ask? 



^^'^^M®;^^^)/^^ 



WRITTEN ON A COLD WINTER NIGHT. 



HE stars look cold to night — piteously cold; 
And fancy sees a tear in each one's eye ; 
The Queen of night is hid behind the clouds 
Black and dreary, which seem to hurry by 
With great velocity, as if to seek 
A shelter, in some quiet nook. 

The winds are howling o'er the snow-capp'd hills, 
And yelling in the dismantled forest trees. 
As if holding a high carnival ; 
Attacking every unlucky animal 
That ventures forth. 

Pity the poor lone fux ! 
Whom hunger has compelled to leave his hole; 
And yon screech-owl, whose doleful scream I hear. 
The stranger, too, whom fate has driven forth, 
If any such should be abroad to-night, 
O cruel winds! intermit your wrath ! 
Happy is the man — and he hath ample caus3 
For gratitude — who hath a shelter now, 
llude thou it ba, if comfortably warm. 

And happy are the conies, which under ground 
Do burrow, if hunger do not pinch them, 
And happy is the beast that is well housed, 
AVith well-filled crib of provender to champ at. 

(263) 



•2G4 TO A YOUNG MISS. 

]3nt, oh, tlic wcatlier-beatcn mariner, 

Whose lot it is to bring ns merchandise 

From foreign climes ! Whose fate exposes him 

To all vicissitiules of heat and cold, 

And storms, and raging billows mountain high, 

How fares he now ? Not very well, I fear. 

Where now is Dr. Kane and his bravo crew, 

Who two years back adventured to the North — 

Leaving their happy homes — in search of that 

Unhappy man of Kngland's favor'd Isle? 

John Franklin, where art thou, and where are 

thine ? 
The soughing winds give answer with a moan, 
" They've pass'd the bourne from whence no trav- 
eler returns/' 



TO A YOUNG MISS. 



|jj||EAlt little miss, why dost tliou talk 
Z^Ei ^0 much about thy beau, 
tj And llirt about with lively air, 
And joys that overflow? 

" 0, yes, I have a pretty beau; 

lie's novv to college gone ; 
I lis iigure tall — his graceful smile — 

My little heart liave won. 

" My mamma said I never should 

Associate with boys ; 
But, oh, 'tis cruel thus to talk. 

And thus destroy my joys. 



THE SCHOOLMASTEU'S STOOL. 265 

" My thoughts are on him night and day, 
Their frowns and threats are vain ; 

In vain they tell me not to love, 
My heart they can't restrain. 

" I5ut, oi), I dare not tell you what 

He told me at the fair, 
For fear my ma should find it out, 

And pa should scold and swear. 

"And such a show of gew-gaws fine, — 

The bracelets, ring and glove, 
He gave to me that happy day. 

As tokens of his love." 



THE SCHOOLMASTER'S STOOL. 

A Rough Planlc with Fcur Rough Legs. 



IP ONCE grew on a mountain's rugged brow, 
.*f^> Wiiere kindred timber stood, 
ll ^ And crows perch'd on my ev'ry bough. 
Whose cawing through the wood 
Reverberated, echoed, loud and long; 

And glad was I to hear 
The merry sound, and shook my branches strong, 
AVith merriment and cheer. 

And when tlie long, dreary season was o'er, 

And I waked from my sleep — 
Or half sleep rather — for 'tw is no more, 

I consciously did peep 
2:5 



XHU) TllK SCIUHM.MASTKIC'S STOOU 

At all nrouiul— ()n cv'iy Iwii^, onch bud 

Mxiiaiuloil liirgc aiul wide, 
Ami fewil't and smoothly lUnvcd my blood; 

1 felt my youthful pridi'. 

With gnitituti,' did 1 inhaU' tho dows 

Of cv'iung and of morn ; 
And gentle showers diil oftentimes diiVuse 

Above me, to adorn 
My person with the foliage id' sprini; ; 

And little birds Hew o'er 
And rounil me, and sweetly tlid they sinj; 

(>f those they'll lov'd l)el'ore. 

In autunui, when all trees shouUl shed their fruits 

1 seattered mine arouml. 
For pii:;s, whieh hungry eame, and destitute. 

With snouts upon the ground. 
C)ft dill 1 hit them on the baelc for sport, 

And laugh to hear them sfpieal ; 
And e'en the sipiirrel, tDo, did 1 supjiort, 

.\i\d give him many a meal. 

The erows e'en made their nests and raised their brood 

Ujion my highest limb ; 
And doves sat on my little twigs and coo'd, 

While swallows did o'er me skim. 
Thus did I live for ujany a generation, 

Nor felt, nor feared muel» }iain, 
While men who style themselves " L.irds of Creation," 

Hv mortal death were slain. 

l\u{ little did 1 thinU -O. silly fool! 
Kot more than did a stone. 



'Ill \<] tiClIOOKM AHTICU M S'I'OOl,. 



2(;7 



'I'liiil- I nli()iil(l (I'cr he roiiiii'd iiilo ii alool, 

l^'or ji K'lioolnuiHl.cr's lliroiic. 
Hill. i.\w Jixomcii ciiiiKi with tli.^ir IooIh in liiuul, 

With iiiif2;(n" much iiilliUuM, 
To (Mil. ii'.(^ down — With l(';,^s iipurl, llrni did they .stiiiid. 

And nt my licjirt Ihcy iiimcd. 

'riniH I, who'd \o\]i^ n'joiccd in my own ,stnuii";th, 

And oft witliwtood tlic /'[ale, 
Thi' niinM, jiiid pcKiii!,:; of tiic h;iil, :it h'nj^tli 

liiiy prostrutc mh .i (M)n<|ii(M"('d whiih\ 
<), wind, u tn>m('n(h)nrt nhoiik tluiL wuh! 

I I'cil like HO much Irad ; 
l\Iy Iind)H wcm'c .sluittcrcd drcud fully, :i1:ihI 

I thou^'ht 'twould kill nui dead. 

Stroke ai'tcr .stroke, !i.,u;ain the axe was plicMl, 

Until my limhn W(U"o lopped 
Oir IVom my trunk — 'IMiey noxt strippoil oil" my hiile. 

Which '{^ain.st my Hido thoy propped; 
While I lay tremhiini; on the fj;round, 

Womlerin^ what they wore about — 
Thoy, unconcornod, as is a n^ckless hound, 

Dovoid of rcolin^f, in or out. 



Thiia, nake(l did they Iciive me, uh 1 waH, 

Heneath the burning sun. 
Where weekH, yes, montliH, was I doom'd to ])msh, 

I )tla.pi(lated and undont^ 
I squirmed l)eiie:i.th old S )rH iie'er-ceasiuL^ bhizo, 

My Hid(\s were (U'acked and diied ; — 
Oil. did I wish ihe remiiunt of my daytj 

Were HWept oil' with the tide. 



'2(>3 THE SCHOOl.M.VSI'I'nt's v'^rOOL. 

Al length ,}oc ISykc;?, as if ihrou<;li sympathy 

For my sad case, forlorn, 
Came with liis team, as if to set me free, 

Ami dra^i^ed mo through liis corn; 
Nor did I think it iirudeiit to complain, 

Allhoiii;h ho tore me sore, 
By tlriigging mo o'er rocks witli his big chain; — 

All this, with fortitude, 1 bore. 

Hill thougli 1 did my lato condition hate — 

For trees look'd on me with scorn, 
As if they never thought to share my fate — 

I still had cause to mourn ; 
For .'oe had loft mc in the public road. 

Where 1 was jostloil much; 
And ev'ry team that })ass'd, though great its load, 

iNlust needs give me a touch. 

But here my thoughts were busily at work — 

Others of my kindred were there: 
Joe, now and then, would roll one up and jerk 

So roughly as to tear 
Big lumps of wood from olf their sides — 

Then raised them with a pry 
As if to grind them, on a frame that slides — 

1 saw the powder lly. 

Finally, my turn came, aid what a IV ght 
Came o'er me at the time! 

lie ripped mo through — his saw did pinch and bite- 
As though I'd done som.i crime ; 

Hut after all my ])angs were o'er, and ccol, 
I did not mind it muali ; 

Ami when doo made of me, a handsome stool, 
llejoiced that I was such. 



THK sciiooi.mastich's STOOI,. UC'J 

You Hi'd I'vf i\')\. M, liiuidHoiiKi pair ol' I<';j;h, 

Ami lliiMi;;li my hnclc is H(|tliiro, 
I'm u (|iia(lni|)(Ml, uml IVco IVoiii Jiiiuiy |)I]i;^ii('H, 

Which Irccs ur() (hxtiiiM to Hhiini. 
The thiiiidciholl, wil.h all hi.s <s,\iu\(;\n<^ darl.H, 

I )()(H not. alarm mo licrc ; 
Bosidi'H I'm liiii^^hl. \ty HcU'iH'A'H and art.H, 

I liav(! IK) (;aiiH(! to IV'ar. 

You oiii^'lit lo Hcc! tli(! IcariKMl ixMla^^o^'uc, 

I low proud h(! Hits antridc 
llpou my l)a(!l<, jiial like aomu hi},' bull-IVo;,', 

The oronkiu^ hrood to chide. 
Wlii'uc'cr hi> rai.scH his fcMMilf, or rod, 

"I'ia lau;^duihl(!, irnhMul, 
To 8C(! how <pii(dv a threat or e'cu a nod, 

I^'rom niirlh to fear can [(^ad. 

Tii(! little ur(diiii,s, at tlu; master'rt call, 

< 'omo hii-ikly up with Hupple joiiit.s ; 
Aud look up to a card that hau;;n upon thu wall, 

While wilh u Hti(d<, the master pointn. 
A, U, (>, aud a-1) al», they drawl — 

The ouo who kuovvH it hcst 
Sings out the lirst -After which 'lis all 

l{ci>eatcd by tin; rest. 

I, loo, meajiwhilc am looking at the; card. 

And at cacdi little crcaturo ; 
Ami while tliu boyH aro studying hard, 

Tm learning linmau nature;. 
(Some little girls havu bright, black ey(;s, 

And hair ao nieoly plaited; 

'Hi" 



270 A HOT JJAY IN JIAltVESr-TIME. 

J3ut oilier i^irla iire otherwise, 
With liair iill ron;j;h uml iiuilted. 

Some buys look bri;4lif. ;iiul some look queer, 

While some are fresh tis roses; 
Some are well dressed, some not so well appear, 

And some have dirty noses. 
Uteres one, is ol' a drowsy temperament, 

Thereh one, is quick and active, 
To books his whole attention's bent. 

And learning is attractive. 

There's one, whose chief design's on wicked play, 

A mischief-making creature; 
I see him at it almost ev'ry day, 

Hut dare not tell the teacher; 
Far it might cause a roio in school. 

And that I do not like to see; 
liesides, at some i)ropitioiis time, the fool 

Might vent his rage on me. 



A HOT DAY IN HARYEST-TIME. 

■ • 



l^pOW clear the sky — the landscai)c ] 
fi^ The silence how profound! ]iri{ 



how serene — 
profound! liright is the scene, 
liehold the distant vai)ors how they blend, 
(Quivering as they from the ground ascend. 

The sun is hot, the atmosphere is dry; 
No cloud within the compass of the eye; 
The cows retire unto the nearest shade. 
Or teased by gnats, into the brook they wade. 



A HOT DAY IN- IlAHVESr-riMF. 271 

Yet notwithstanding the oppressive heat, 
The reaper sweats and swelters at his wheat; 
While city gents and belles in yon green grove, 
Are lolling in the shade, and loath to move. 

Hehold yon man, who drives at such a speed 

A span of horses, of the racer breed; 

Adorned in richest silk, a lady by his side— 

They take their pleasure, when they please, they ride. 

Fine horses those — fine equipage indeed ! 

And those are gentle folks, we must concede; 

JJut pray of what utility are they ? 

"Mere drones," methinks I hear my neighbor say. 

" They labor not, they toil not in the leasf, 
Hut on the fruits of other's labor feast," 
And one might think that they're a happy pair; 
But no, their joys are few— they have their care.' 

The man who daily swings his cradle round. 
With face and hands by Sol's fierce rays imbrowned. 
Is still more cheerful, though he's not so gay ; 
But he, perhaps, is happier far Than they. 

lie, with a keener relish eats his bread; 

No vain, ambitious schemes infest his head; 

lie sleejjs more soundly, when his work is done, 

And ]leasantare the dreams that in his cranium run. 

Tliat man is more contented with his lot; 
The gnats and buzzing files disturb him not; 
And those peculiar pests of idleness. 
No portion of his cranium possess. 



'1i7'2 THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG. 

THE LAND OF MY CHILDHOOD. 



||MH E hind of my childhood — the scenes of my youth — 
,1^^ O'er which in my fancy I ponder ; 
"Tj Fain would I return, even in my old age, 
Again o'er those wild scenes to wander. 

Though years have gone by, and have left on my brow, 

Their traces of care and of sorrow; 
Yet thoughts of the pleasures of youth, even now, 

Do brace up my nerves for the morrow. 

O, could I revisit those scenes I rever'd, 
O'er dales and o'er moors would I ramble ; 

And pluck the red hips, the haws and the berries, 
That grow on the thorn and the bramble. 

That dear early home, with its cheering delight. 
Though 'twas but a small, humble cottage, 

There were comfort and peace and a sharp appetite, 
That could relish a mess of meal pottage. 



THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG. 



||^I|AIIK ! hark I Do you not hear that booming sound! 
^^ Those frequent cracks so sharp and shrill ? 
'll They rend the air — they shake the very ground; 
Hark! hark! Again — I hear them still! 

What can it be? the fearful folks inquire, 
Still they surmise and still they wonder — 



THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBUKG. 273 

'Tis one continued roar both deep and dire, 
As though it were of distant thunder. 

'Tis the sound of cannon and musketry, 

Not distant in a Western course ; 
Our army is engag'd with General Lee, 

And his entire Confed'rate force. 

For such a cannonading, one may twear, 

Is not a skirmish or a raid : 
Ah! volley after volley rends the air, 

And fearful is the havoc made! 

'Tis sending orphanage and widowhood 
Throughout the land, from shore to shore; 

For in each volley, numbers shed their blood, 
And numbers fall to rise no more. 

With citizens of strange and fearful mien, 

Each thoroughfare is all alive; 
Horse and rider hurrying from the scene, 

As fast as whip and spur can drive. 

While in their wake, alarm and fear prevail, 

And ev'ry hamlet hears the sound ; 
And fancy sees the fo3 ufon his trail. 

And death anl carnage all around. 



^^"^^ 



THE GETTYSBURG BATTLE-FIELD. 

Suggeeted on \'[o\viv.g ll^e Field a Few Daya After 
the Battle. 



'|PJ|lL(iIlv'lM, sliMiis:;*'!-, wlioovcr you may \h\ 
J"j^ ^rri'iul lightly on this sacroil ground; 
jj The valiant dead, far as the oyc can see, 
liie buried hero beneath each mound ; 
Side by side iliey lii>, as side by side (liey fouj^lifc; 

What thousands nobly foui^lil and fell! 
And lhou<:;h the vieL'ry was so dearly bought, 
\vi history of their ileeds shall tell. 

^^leel), heroes, sleep, in these your gory beds, 

Let nought disturb your sweet repose; 
Your (Country yet shall \)la('e your valiant heads 

On softer pillows — Where no I'oes 
i5hall ever o'er your tleath exult again ; 

Nor foenien's flag be Haunted o'elf you ; 
Nor hunger's biting sting,^, nor pang?, nor ]iain, 

Nor balls, nor bayonets sliall gore you. 

AVhen tuiuultsoease — When tdash ofaruis is husli'd 

And peace ]>roclainrd throughout the land ; 
When this reb^dlion is forever ernsh'd, 

l\y i^atriot soldiers' brawny hand ; 
Then, generations yet unborn, shall tell 

Of this grtat. buttle, with exult mt i)ritle, 
And how their eouutryiuen fous^ht, bled and fell, 

So iioi'h/ fell on Freedom's side. 

(971) 



BKNKATJI AN OAK. 

|P^I<NI<)ATJ1 im ()!il\, willi lolijij^o pjiTcii ami dense, 
iZZ^M W liicli lon<j; luul stood iijioii an cmiiKMUM'; 
Tj A hjiol conmiaiidiiijj^ an cxlonaive view, 
or liilln and vales and fon'.stH i\()l. a few: 

A pini|tle bard, lo vveallli and lanu^ nnknown, 
UnwitXingly liad wandered lierii aloiw^ ; 
And wearK (I willi Iiih wand'rings Sat and nuised, 
His mind with multilu<le of tli()n<^lils infused. 

'J'lie season was about Hie end of sprinji^, 

When tlie joniif^ birda were (lod^^ed and on the win^v 

And merry dune hud lier appearunco made 

]n lively mood — in ^ay attire array'd ; 

And h'iora's ricdiest ^jjil'ls adorned her hair — 

The rose, the violel, and llie lily lair. 

The leal h( r'd tribe were lliltini^f lo and IVo, 
On lofty trees, or in the vale below, 
Where fearlessly they tnn'd their tiny throals, 
And utter'd forth their sweet, melodious notes. 

\'\iy in the dislaiK^', many miles away, 
The sunbeams in fantastic, [;and)ols play; 
l'>ut further still, far as lh(! eye can view, 
The vap'rous laudscMpe wears a somber hue; 
And indislinet ar(' objeels to the eye, 
lu>y land is scarcer dihtiiii^uisheil from the sky. 



276 MRS. CURSES THE FLEAS. 

Nearer, the num'rons forests intervene, 
From the palest to the deepest tints of green, 
With here and there a spot in verdure gray, 
Where happy homes of prosp'rous farmers lay : 

And fields of grain, up to the mountain's height, 
Were waving in the breeze — a cheering sight 
To the industrious husbandman — I pass'd him by, 
His sunburnt face was radiant with joy. 

Again the country smiles with plenteousness. 

No fear is felt of famine or distress ; 

What man of sense can view the pleasing scene, 

And feel no sense of gratitude within? 

And yet I hear a murmur now and then 

From discontented, avaricious men. 

But Nature heeds them not — pursues her plan, 
Is ever bountiful to selfish man, 
Notwithstanding his shortcomings now and then, 
And his un kindness to his fellow-men. 



MRS. CURSES THE FLEAS. 



|pi| ANG- the fleas — the pests," said she. 

And scratch'd her back and look'd at me- 
" My hate of fleas I can't express. 
And yet they hate me none the less. 

'* If I could catch them all asleep, 
Or had them all in one great heap, 
How glad I'd be to glut my ire! 
I'd make of them a ereat bonfire." 



MRS. CURSES THE FLEAS. 277 

MR. REMONSTRATES WITH HER. 

" Fie! madam, fie — dont curse the fleas; 
Poor innocents ! altliongh they tease, 
Tliey only suck the stagnant blood, 
Which is their means of HvelihooL 

"As beasts were made to graze the field, 
80 fleas their suction-pipes must wield ; 
And they must live as well as we — 
This, is the substance of their plea. 

"But do not pout and look so stern, 
You many a lesson, yet, may learn ; 
Ne'er mind the fleas — for what's the use? 
They'll harm you not, more than a goose. 

" When you lie down, like lazy sheep, 
'Tis right, they will not let you sleep; 
You have no right to doze your time away 
In idle habits night and day. 

" You speak in jest, and why not own it? 
'Tis funny when one thinks upon it, 
To see and feel their agile movements, 
As ladies show their late improvements. 

" They strut and dance — make much ado — 
They play and jump like kangaroo; 
Sometimes, solitary and alone, 
Sometimes, in Indian file one by one, 
Sometimes, like cavalry in a race. 
Or like a puck of hounds in chase. 

24 



278 MltS. CURSES THE FLEAS. 

•' Von, _c;entlemen and liidiesgay, 

Who seek for pleasure niglit and day, 

Who dress in cloth and satin fine, 

Wiio feast on dainties and on wine, 

Who tax your wits, in vain, to find 

b'onie way to drive the ennui from the mind. 

You scream to tread upon a worm. 

It shocks your nerves to see it squirm ; 

And if a flea but bite your back. 

You lidge as if upon a rack : 

But }on've not tasted half the pleasures. 

Nor have you dream'd of half the treasures 

roEsess'd by beggar?, poor and old — 

'J'hey, would not part with fleas for heaps of gold.' 

MRG. BECOMES INDIGNANT. 

" Fools that they arc — and you're no wiser — 

Some si)i)j)le beggar s your adviser; 

^'ou always copy from such fools. 

Or draw your thouj^hts from l*agan scliools ; 

You'd better read your Uible more — 

As I have told you oft before — • 

Or books of prayers and devotions, 

And lay aside such foolish notions." 



^"^^-^ 



MARY'S DISAPPOINTED HOPES. 



jll ! Mary once was beautirul :iiul young, 
And like ix lark, so cheerful was her song; 
ITcr step was nimble and her heart was light, 
Her dreams were pleasant and her hopes Avero 
bright, 

Jfer bosom then was like a fairy bower, 

Adorn'd with wreaths of evergreen and flower; 

With no vile reptiles to disturb her joy; 

She thought, perhaps, that pleasures ne'er would cloy. 

Strong ho|)('s had she that spring would ever stay; 
The morrow be as joyous as to-day; 
That lloweis wouhl ever in their beauty bloom, 
To Ecent the atmosphere with their perfume; 

That birds would ever sing in cheerful glee, 
To cl)eer her soul with lively melody, 
That Sol's mild beams would o'er her ever soar, 
And light her pathway now, and evermore. 

Say, will you ever stiiy, bird, ilower, and bloom, 
To fill the air with beauty and perfume, 
To cheer her soul with melody and joy. 
And happiness untainted with alloy? 

Will blooming health, and teeming wealth, attend 
ller course through life, and pleasure never end ? 
Will smiling lip?, upon her ever smile, 
Will eyes of light, forever gleam the while ? 

(27U) 



280 MISS H K.I O ICING OVER 

Will she be ever blest witli fairy dreams ? 
Will that bright sua forever cast his beams 
In miklncss on her? Will vernal showers fall, 
To beautify the huulscapo at her call ? 

"No," says tlie Sun, " that never can be so — 
I must fulfill my mission — I nuist go — 
I proniis'd faithfully, and must appear 
In regions of the Southern hemisphere:" 

"No," says the Bird, " I cannot ever sing — 
I only sing to cheer my mate in spring — 
And when the sun departs, I wing my llight 
To regions more congenial and bright:" 

*' No," says Ihe Flower, " I cannot ever bloom, 
To scent the air with beauty and perfume; 
When winter comes, as very soon it must, 
You'll see my drooping head laid in the dust." 



MISS — REJOICING OYER HER SIUGLE BLESSEDNESS. 

1^ AM not married yet, 
*^» And I care not for that, 
tj 1 am free, independent and merry; 

I can live at my ea'e, 

1 can go when I jilease, 
And as long as I please c.ui 1 tarry. 

You silly young girls, 

Who smile through your curls, 



HKIl SINdLK HLK-ISKDNKSS. 281 

'I'o iilcjise some viiin lop or some other; 
If you should get married 
You'll wish you had tarried 

At home with your fjither and mother. 

l"\)r when you are tied, 
With a man at your side, 

Your troubles are daily increasing; 
You may cook, knit and sew. 
Like a gin-horse you may go 

In a circle, Ibrcver unceasing. 

You may talk of the bliss. 
And the sweets of a kiss, 

Married life is forever enjoying; 
Jiut, oh, 'tis a hoax, 
And most married folks 

Can toll you that this is annoying. 

I'll set up my bonnet. 
With gay ribbons on it. 

And to the vain gazers I'll show it; 
But by the "Old Harry" 
I'm not going to marry. 

Nor sell myself cheap, if I know it. 

But I've got a beau, 

That will have me, I know, 

Whenever I say I am ready; 
He has got sandy hair, 
lie is handsome and fair, 

Ho is lovely, and courteous, and steady. 

2-J* 



282 HOME, SWEET HOME. 

And the people all stare, 
Like a newly caught hare, 

"When sometimes we go out a walking; 
Well, I do not know, 
But that Eome day I'll go, 

And stop the vain tattlers from talking. 



HOME, SWEET HOME. 



|^|OMK, sweet home, how cheering is the name! 
g^^ In ev'ry clime and country 'tis the same; 
^P Home of our childhood, that early home, 
"Which memory cherishes where'er we roam. 

Affection clings to it in after years, 
The picture ever bright and fresh appears ; 
Those faces bright, which we did idolize, 
"Which were like sunshine to our infant eyes, 
Are still remember'd as Time's stream rolls on, 
Though half a century since then has gone. 

The window-pane through which we first look'd out 
"Upon the beauteous world, and things about, 
Whose checker'd scenery and colors bright, 
Enraptur'd us and charm'd our infant sight; 
The hills and streams and open fields between, 
The orchard and the garden fresh and green. 
In which we gambol'd on a summer day, 
The woodland shade where hours were pass'd away, 
Tlie blazing fire, the ev'ning tale and lay, 
The social gath'ring on a holiday, 



THE TIDE OF EMIGRATION. 283 

The walk to school, to fair, to church, or mill, 
Are images that live in mem'ry still. 

They follow us in all the walks of life. 
When jostling with the world's turmoil and strife. 
They lighten up our pathway with their rays. 
They guide our footsteps in our darkest days. 



THE TIDE OF EMIGRATION. 



H^HE New World from the Old receives supplies: 

T«*^ America continues still to rise; 
The tide of emigration Westward fio\vs,J 
As nat'ral as a duck to water goes. 

Ours ought to be a vig'rous race, indeed. 
If true the vigorous ever take the lead ; 
-Such is the case in Britain's Isle, at least, 
The enterprising still are leaving fast. 

If they can means procure to pay their fare, 
Unto the nearest seaport they repair, 
Unto a more extensive field to go. 
That their advent'rous powers they miy show. 

By far the most go to the Western shore, 
Whither friends and relatives have gone before ; 
In search of fortunes, hither do they roam. 
Or, some of them, to seek a happier home. 

The young, as they at maturity arrive, 
With their ambitious schemes are all alive ; 
The white cockade, red coat, or glittering sword, 
3<]ntice them, they enlist, are soon on board. 



584 THE TIDE OF EMIGRATION". 

The thoughts of cutting throats do in their noJdles reyel. 

They go to India to keep the Hindoos civil, 

Where, in a year, they invalids become. 

And then they'd give their all to get back home. 

iSome show their powers in another sphere, 

As though fame never could be bought too dear; 

Tliey to the rigorous Arctic regions go, 

To freeze or starve amid the everlasting snow. 

Again, some go to Afric's wilds and wastes, 
Jiecause in this direction run their tastes, • 

A hunting elephants, perhaps, where soon 
They die among the Mountains of the Moon. 

Some, less adventurous, or less bold, 

To El l")orado go to dig for gold, 

AVith kindred spirits who've run from home. 

Where wild, and reckless, and rakish they become. 

Enduring much privation and fatigue, 
Juggling, jostling, cliicanery, and intrigue, 
And wear and tear of body, mind and brain, 
At length they find their hopes and prospects vain. 

Inordinate desire for wealtii thus prompts them on, 
In blind pursuit of something on they run. 
Till their career is stopp'd — they pine and die, 
And in a foreign land beneath the clods they lie. 

Thus human warfare far extends its sway, 
And carries off its victims day by day; 
The proud, the humble, enemies and friends. 
Are brought to'dust, and here the contlict ends. 



OK TWO FINE HORSES— "JIM AND DANDY.' 



T 



S I went o'er to Stewartstown 

Upon a summer day, 
I saw two of the finest steeds 
That e'er were fed on hay. 

They drew a carriage, rich and granJ, 

1'hat glisten'd in the sun. 
In which a gent and lady sat. 

And laugh'd to see tlieni run. 

They went like swallows on the wing, 

I thought they'd run away; 
I felt an apprehension for 

This gent and lady gay. 

But no, they sat and felt secure, 

"Wftliout a sign of fright, 
Although these noble blooded steeds 

Flew like a streak of light. 

So tractable to whip and rein ; 

Perfectly safe and sure I 
Naught on four legs could cope with them, 

Or longer could endure. 

"Were I the happy owner of 

This splendid pair of steeds, 
I'd show the gentry of the turf 

Some feats and glorious deeds. 

(885) 



586 ON TWO FINE HORSES — "JIM AND DANDY/ 

AVitli these two liorses and this carriage, 

And this young lady gay, 
I would not wish a better fortune, 

Or a nobler display. 

I would not thank the President 

To be my father then ; 
I'd think myself as rich as he^ 

And happiest of men. 



It curls my wool to hear you boast, 
When you are soak'd with brandy; 

Your horses are but plodding steers, 
Compar'd with "Jim and Dandy." 

Hitch them before a vehicle, 

A buggy, cart, or carriage ; 
Just tickle them, and let them know 

They're going to a marriage. 

They'll bow their necks and prick their ears, 

And set the wheels a spinning; 
If they don't go, why tell me so, 

And I'll confess I'm sinning. 

Just try to pass them on the road. 
And you will see some fun, sir; 

You'll be surprised to see them move, 
So swiftly can they run, sir. 

The proud young sparks spur on their nags, 
But these fine steeds don't mind them ; 

>Yithout an effort on they go, 
And leave the jades behind them. 



LORD 'S FARM. 28T 

If you can catch a streak of light, 

Or bottle up the thunder, 
Then you may hope to catch these steeds, 

But then 'twill be a wonder. 

And do you ask of me, my friend, 

Their lineage to trace, sir? 
They're of John Gilpin's famous stock. 

That never lost a race, sir. 

Xow if you don't believe my tale, 

Lcok for yourself — indeed, sir. 
Their size and color, make and shape, 

Prove them of noble breed, sir. 



LORD 'S FARM. 



I^OME dwarfisli, stunted sassafras, 
^^ AH o'er the place are seen ; 
Ij Some poverty-grass and sickly weedSy 
(irow in the space between. 

For years it has not seen a plough, 

A mattock or U hoe ; 
'Tis going back to its wild state, 

As fast as it can go. 

'Tis not a cultivated farm ; 

Nor is it forest land ; 
'Tis neither one thing nor the other, 

'Tis neither soil nor sand: 



•88 MEMORIES OF THE HEART. 

Nor is't a howling wilderness; 

No beasts of prey are there; 
A cricket here and there is seen ; 

lUit they are thin with care. 

The Katy-dids try hard to sing 
Their praises to the moon ; 

But oh 1 they tremble, falter, stop — 
They cannot raise the tune. 

l*oor things — they cannot get enough 

Of food to make a meal ; 
Starvation stares them in the face, 

And sad is their appeal. 

Ah ! sure the man that owns that tract, 
IMust be a flagrant sinner, 

"When grass-hoppers and Katy-dids 
Can't even find a dinner. 



MEMORIES OF THE HEART. 



^]0||lIE heart has memories that never die, 
^^^ And which this world's rough rubs cannot destroy; 
'tp They are visions of home and early days, 

Of by-gone scenes and happy, harmless plays. 

There is the tree 'neath which the youth did play. 
And gambol'd on many a summer day; 
Yonder, the pond o'er which the swallows skim, 
The same in which he bath'd and learu'd to swim. 



SOCIAL LOVE. 289 

There is the house, though somewhat worse with wear, 
In which he early knew a parent's care ; 
The lawn, o'er which he frolick'd like a hare, 
With sister or brother, long since, alas! 
Consign'd to earth beneath the verdant grasp, 
O'ershadoAv'd by the church's mournful shadi, 
Where his own mortal frame must soon be laid. 

And e'en the schoolhouse which, in early youth. 
Associated with long tasks, forsooth, 
Comes fresh again to his active mind, 
With its delightful memories behind. 

'Twas there, perhaps, the spark of love 

Was kindled, or receiv'd a start; 
'Twas there, psrhaps, he learn'd to feed 

The finest emotions of the heart. 

'Twas there, perhaps, he first that being knew. 
For whom his passion strong and stronger grew; 
Who afterwards became his lawful wife, 
Partner in all the cares and hones of life. 



SOCIAL LOVE. 



Ij^jiOW sweet is Social Love — when e'en a smile 
«^^ Can ev'ry pang and painful thought beguile I 
[P When cires disturb, when sorrows wring the heart. 
Love's magic quickly heals the painful smart. 
What man, indeed, can e'er unhappy be, 
AVhen hearts with his vibrate with sympathy? 
Though dark and cold to him may seem the world, 

86 



290 THE LONELY LOVER, 

Though Late abound, and calumny be hurl'd, 

Though toil fatigue his limbs, and bus'ness his mind, 

Let him but change the scene, a solace shall he find, 

Within the ark of love. Affection's smiles, 

The voice of tenderness, liis children's wiles, 

All tend to dissipate, or lull to rest. 

The storms that lately rag'd within his breast. 



THE LONELY LOYER. 



Ijp^ ONCE I was happy and blest in my station, 
^^ And oft with my Jamie o'er meads did I stray; 
Nor dream'd of the lonely and sad separation. 
Of which I now brood, and mourn night and day. 
Chorus — how can 1 sing, or be jovial and free, 

Or how can I join with the social and gay ; 
Or how can I dunce as of yore in my glee, 
Since he that I love is far, far away ? 

He's gone to the war that's late put in motion, 
To fight for his country, his country to save; 

The proud king of Britain, the monarch of ocean. 
Would rob us of Freedom, our country enslave. 
Chorus — Then how can I sing, &c. 

How dearly I lov'd him, how fondly I doated 
Upon his fine form and the beauty display'd I 

His heart it is true, and to me much devoted, 
Nor doubt 1 his faith, or tlie pledge that he made. 
Chorus — But how can I sing, &c. 



WHAT I'd do when I BECAME A MAN. 291 

OK WOMAN'S FASCINATING POWERS. 



l^pOW can the sweet young creatures conquer, 
^^ Or such stern hearts trepan ; 
T] How can they ever overcome 

That churlish creature man ? 

With baited smiles, and dimpled cheeks, 

And pearly rows of teeth ; 
And scented breath, and lily necks. 

And fairy forms beneath. 

With silks and flowing muslin robes — 
The best produc'd by looms — 

And yards of ringlets, black or auburn, 
And rarest rich perfumes. 

With pouty, pulpy, crimson lips. 

And crimson blushes, too; 
And whisper'd vows of constant love, 

They say they'll ne'er undo. 



WHAT I'D DO WHEN I BECAME A MAN 



HOP'D and vowed, when I became a man 

Great exploits would I do — I'd do great things — 
'Tf^ I'd go to the farthest hill that I could scan, 

To see the moon, to know on what she swings. 

I'd travel round this little world of ours — 

Wliich I, childlike, consider'd flat and round — 

I'd take a vessel — submit it to the wind's strong powers, 
Where'er I ould not travel ou the ground. 



292 I'm getting tired of pjetry 

I'd rock my bark against the vault of heaven. 
Prove by the touch of what tlie sky was made; 

To prove tliis doubt, oft indeed, I'd striven, 
I thought 'twas either pewter, tin, or lead. 

Tiiese things I'd do, and more, when old enough and 
grown ; 

Impatiently I waited and racked my pate ; 
Thus, on Idream'd, castles were built, and bubbles blown. 

Until 1 came to man's estate. 

Long since grown to man's stature, what have I done ? 

Notliing worthy of notice, as it seems — 
And my career will doubtless end as 'twas begun, 

In naught but visionary dreams. 



I'M GETTING TIRED OF POETRY. 



^ 'M getting tired of poetry; 
"^ I sometimes think 'tis vanity; 
For much of it I know 
Is nonsense and profanity. 

One draws so fine a picture, 
Of his bewitching Mies; 

You'd think she was a creature 
Of the realms of bliss. 

Endow'd with all the graces, 
"Without; the least defect; 

pshaw! what airy castles 
The poet can erect. 



SOLDIER JOHNIIY'S FAREWELL TO HIS MARY. 



I^AREWELL awhile, my Mary dear, 
.^^*. I'm bound for Mexico, Miss; 
tp Don't weep for me, wipe off that tear, 
More fortitude do show, Miss. 

Let slaves and cowards who trembling fear 
To strike a resisting blow. Miss, 

Shrink back the trump of war to hear, 
And basely dread to go, Miss. 

What man of feeling can withhold, 
With passions flame to glow, Miss, 

While murd'ring weapons uncontrol'd. 
His countrymen lay low. Miss? 

Our country calls for vengeance, dear, 
Upon the murd'rous foe, Miss ; 

Heav'n grant a scourging power, sevire. 
To cause their overthrow. Miss. 

MARY'S LETTER TO JOHNNY. 

I gladly wish the wars were o'er, 
I gladly wish thee home again ; 

I gladly wish I could restore 
My Johnny ne'er to roam again. 

How sad and lonesome now I feel. 
When absent from my John, awhile; 

(2j3) 



291 SOLDIER JOHNXY's FAUEWKLL to his MARY. 

It grieves my heart, it breaks my weal 
To think that John is gone awhile. 

O, that some kind protecting care, 

Might aid his safe retnrn again ! 
Then sorrow, grief, and sad despair, 

In gladness I can spurn again. 

I'ome home, dear Johnny, leave the wari, 
You've serv'd your country long enough ; 

To shield the eagle, stripes, and stars. 
Sure Taylor's army's strong enough. 

JOHNNY'S ANSWER. 

V cease, my Mary, to complain, 

That I of bliss bereave thee ; 
Sing not in such a mournful strain, 

Tiiough it may somewhat grieve thee ; 
And soon I will come back again — 

ne'er can I deceive thee — 
Aye, in thy presence to remain, 

And nevermore to leave thea. 

EEPORT CF JOHNNY'S DEATH-MARY'S LAMENTATIONS 

Farewell all hopes of happiness, 

1 wander now forlorn, 

Destin'd through trying scenes severe, 
In widowhood to mourn. 

lie upon the cruel wars, 

And thund'ring cannons ro.ir ! 
They've murder'd my poor lovely lad — 

J^Iy Johnny is no more. 



THE WAYS OF MANKIND. 395 

Alas! what sin and wickedness, 

\'ile mortals perpetrate; 
How great must be the punishment, 

Which waits the sinner's fate! 

God's Will be done — death must ere long 

llemove these bitter draughts; 
E'en now from wretched scenes of eartl^, 

I heavenward turn my thoughts. 

CONTINUED IN ANOTHER STRA:N. 

Come now, sweet Death, my eyelids close — 

I'm tired of life and all its cares, 
Since thou'st depriv'd me of my love — 

Who no«v shall shield me from lift's snares? 

I've now no consolation left, 

Since he is gone who once wa3 mine : 

This world has lost its charms for me, 
In grief I languish and repine. 

guide me where my John is gone. 

To heav'nly regions let me soar; 
'Twas oft my wish, when life was sweet, 

To die when happiness was o'er. 



THE WAYS OF MANKIND. 



^||HE ways and notions of mankind, 
. ^^. Provoke me to a smile ; 
T[ Whene'er I muse, upon their views. 
Their vain and useless broil ; 
I do declare, and almost swear. 
Such things did ne'er beguile 



596 THE CRICKET. 

My simple jiate, since nature great, 
First rais'd me from tiie soil. 

Each fancies that he's much abus'd, 

And thus torments his pate 
With strange conceit — his passions heat 

To show his mortal hate. 
When round I scan, I hear each man. 

Express his doleful state. 
Lamenting sore, forevermore, 

His wo.s and sorrows great. 



THE CRICKET. 



M|ffAlvKI 'tis the cricket's shrill, small voice — 
-^^ In crevices does he rejoice I 
jP How cheerful are his little song?, 

Which he the livelong night prolongs! 
AVhat is the subject of his lay, 
Does he sing of his lady gay '? 
Or is he pouring out his soul, 
As he sits in that humble hole, 

In evening hymns and melodies? 

Or does he loudly thus jiroclaiin, 
Some mighty insect-warrior's fame? 
Or laud the name of some great sage, 
Whose wisdom far exceeds the age? 
Have insects their heroes, tyrants and kings. 
Orators, poets, and other nich things? 
Who can tell? 



THE CRICKET. 397 

The lively cricket in the nook, 

As we por'd o'er some fav'rite book, 

Or view'd the curling sulphurous smoke, 

AVe well remember his cheerful song, 

As we sat amid the social tlirong. 

Father, mother, sisters, brother, 

Before to rest they retir'd 
€onvers'd of the little warbler, 

As a thing we all admir'd. 

But now the cricket and the nook, 
The battle-door, and spelling book. 
The humble cottage near the wood, 
The pleasant home of our childhood, 
Are swept by Time's resistless blast. 
Into the abyss of the past. 

And those who listen'd, where are they? 
Father, mother, sisters, brother — past away; 
They're scatter'd and parted by wind and wave, 
And some are buried in the grave. 

sad the memories, deep and strong, 
Jnspir'd by that cricket's song; 
It tells of happy days now gone forever; 
Of merry hours that can return, no never; 
It brings to view the furrow'd cheek, 
Of the living, the palsied, and the weak, 
And the pale faces of the dead. 



GK5\(^^^;®)/e)^ 



298 THE HOMEWARD JOUilXEY. 



THE ROSE. 



^^EHOLD that rose, with lovely hue, 
^^ Unfold her leaves divine; 
tj To catch the sunshine and the dew, 
And show her beauties fine. 

Blow gently, winds — your force withhold; 

Blow gently on the rose, 
Let not thy strength and breezes cold 

Her leaves thus discompose. 

And such young lass, must be your doom; 

Your youth must pass away; 
Soon like the rose, your beauteous bloom, 

Must wither and decay. 



THE HOMEWARD .JOURNEY. 

||I||HE night is cheerless, and the air is chill ; 
^^ Icicles hang on ev'ry shrub and tree; 

V tf/ ^ly horse and I, go trudging homeward, on 

Amid the howling storm; wiiile cheerful fires 
Glare up against the vail in ev'ry house — 
Whose inmates sit in case; nor care, nor cold 
Gives them a pang. 

Some friends do plead with me to stay till morn; 
And fain would I obey — but thoughts of home 
Still urge me on — Sweet liome, how cheering is the sound! 
And blest indeed is he who has a hciue. 



THE MOTHER AND HER SAILOR SO^ST. 299- 

When filial ties endear him to the spot; 

What matter though it be an humble cot, 

Beside some grove or in some sylvan vale, 

If plenty smile, and want show not his face. 

Those pleasant homes and mansions which I pass, 

Kemiud me of the times at Summer Lodge ; 

And almost make me wish for their return. 

Methinks 'twould be a happier life — could I 

But gain a livelihood as once I did. 

By laboring on my own productive farm: — 

I rested safe and sound at night, 

And best of all I was content. 

But now — 0, loath am I to tell — 

I supplicate each passer-by. 

And call at ev'ry house to sell a book. 

Sometimes in vain: — 

And oft I'm doom'd to bear the sneers. 

The ruthless taunts, and cutting jokes 

Of thoughtless, heartless, unsympathizing folks. 






THE MOTHER AND HER SAILOR SON, 



^^i^llO but a parent can reveal 
^^ The sorrows which true parents feel, 
U Who mourn the absence of a son. 
That to a foreign land has gone ? 

If tidings come, they fear his fate; 
If not, anxiety is great; 
They fear they'll never see him more, 
Till wafttd to that distant shore. 



300 THE MOTlIKll AND HEll SAILOR SON. 

Hear yen mother sorrowing o'er 

Her sad bereavement evermore; 

Iler thouglits are 0!i that wayward son — 

This is her thome, aiul this alone: 

"1 have a son, it' he lives yet, 

Of whom no tidings do I get ; 

I have not seen him for ten years," — 

And then again will ilow her tears. 

" I fear tliat some voracious beast, 
Long since of him has made a feast ; 
The tokens come on billows roar, 
That I shall never see hiin more. 

"What joy I felt when he was young, 
To hear his prattle and his song; 
Bright were my hopes that he would be 
A comfort in declining years to me. 

" Uut, ah I those hopes, as years roll'd o.i, 
Departed — For, oh, that dear lov'd son — 
As father did — to sea would go — 
'Twas then real sorrow did 1 know ! 

" His f*ther, whom I dearly lov'd, — 
As since it lias been duly prov'd — 
Was swallow'd in the deep blue sea; 
That was a shocking stroke to me ! 

"And next my son would go — he left — 
Then, oh tlien, was I bereft! 
He kindly bid me not to mourn. 
And in a year he would return. 



AVRITTEN" ON A VISIT TO TAINTEIl's BRIDGE. 301 

"And now, though ten long years I've monrn'd, 
He has not to this day return'd, 
And, oh, I fear he never will ; 
And I'm a widow — lonely still." 

But hush I oh, hush! he's coming now — 
AVhat man is that with sun-burnt brow ? 
joy ! it is that long-lost son — 
The warfare's o'er — the victory won ! 

Wealth has he gain'd — and now he's come 
To cheer that solitary home; 
'J'o dissipate that mother's fears 
And comfort her declining years. 



y^v< 



WRITTEN WHEN ON A VISIT TO PAINTER'S BRIDGE. 

.''TT'J.ASI that once delightful home, 
Ador'd in early years; 
tj^ Before fate doom'd my stepi to roam — 
Alas! that once delightful home! 
A gloomy aspect wears. 

When doom'd to baar the bitter blast, 
On mountain-height or plain — 

I've dream'd that when all storms were pass'd 

'J'hat I'd return and find at last 
The sports of youth again ! 

Ikitah! how strange! where are the charms^ 

The sweet and blooming flowers? 
Alas! the change my soul alarms, 

20 



302 0\ A HUGE HEAP OF ROCKS. 

The maid's not there with open arms, 
To welcome me to native bowers. 

^ly earliest love, a beauteous maid, 

Was wedded to a knave; 
In grief she pin'd and soon decay'd, 
The bloom upon her cheek diJ fade, 
Ah, now she's in her gravel 



ON A HUGE HEAP OF ROCKS 

That Overhang the Traveler's Path near Harper's 
Ferry. 



mi HEY seem'd as though they'd fall, and crush 
^ ^, The traveler in his path — 
'y rrecii)itate their sides — One pil'd upon another. 
As if in an hour of wrath 
The hand of Nature thing them there, 

For tlie sport of wind and rain; 
For in a storm they seem'd to totter to and fro 
In threat'ning altitudes. 

But yet they've stood tlie test of ages — 
The efforts of the winds to throw them down 

Hitherto have fail'd. 
The wolves and foxes find a safe retreat 

From man, their enemy; 
The eagle, poreh'd uyton their rugged sides, 

Seems lonl of all. 



THE bird's nest. 303 

Some stunted trees upon their shelving sidei 

Rear up their puny heads ; 
And some few beds of verdant moss 

May here and there be seen : 
All else, is dreariness of aspect, 

And strikes the traveler with fear. 



THE BIRD'S NEST. 



8 that a bird's nest perch'd upon that limb, 

TMade basket-fashion and lin'd so neat and trim ? 
Why, what a curious piece of workmanship! 
IIow wast thou form'd; by whom; what tools had he 
That built thee? hatchet, gimlet, saw, all three? 
"No, nothing of the kind." Why, I'm surprise 1! 
How many years apprenticeship was serv'd 
By the architect of that snug abode ? 
"None at all — Natural instinct taught the moie." 
He must have had nimble fingers. 
"No fingers at all — Nothing but a beak." 
No tools! no fingers! Form'd by a little bird! 
It is the strangest thing 1 ever heard ! 
Can man imitate it, with a host of tools. 
And all the knowledge of our boasted schools, 
And twenty years' apprenticeship beside ? 
" I think not, sir." Wliat, not with Reason's guide? 
What! he who boasts so much of excellence, 
Pre-eminence, ingenuity, intelligence. 
And cannot make so small a structure ? 
What a wonder! 



;i()i 



!-lK\K\lN(l ON lIMlll'.lt UUANCII. 



ON GEEING A IIUNGRY MOUSE. 



U IIOI lilllt" iiioiisc, iii\« yoii lluMf 



^j*. l''rislviii^', caixTiiiij; ovim* llu' lloor ? 



Jl 



\ou si'cm to iiilijilo llu» IVt'sli uir 
\\ ill) ;i I'n'i'ilom unst'cn holorc: 

l'\'('(liii;^ (Ml crinults ol' 1m(\iiI, juhI iiumI, 
Wliii'li. no lUnihl, to you, is a iVnst ; 

Asi'v'rv hitter Ihiiiu; is.swcci, 
'l\» iimi tlial's lmii;;;rv — mail or Ix'ust. 

Hill, liio away l»arl\, little mousi* ; 

"V\s liu'ky (Imt. puns is not Ucw; 
She's lalvin;:; ii stroll roiiiul the lioiido — 

On 111 let', sho is very sovoro. 

Hut, (>. I sie, vain is my plaint, 

llun«;er hus loi'i'M you from your retreat ; 
INeeessity kiu)wa iu> restraint, 

Aiul aiiimul Uiituro inusl out. 



SURVEY INQ ON TIMBER BRANCH. 



\K\\ (he lulls mul over the tlulos, 

T- - ("ivepiu^, (umhlinn, Hiul sliiliui; we i;"o; 
Teiirin^ our (rousors, mul soratehiui:^ our oye.i, 
Anioui;- the laurels ami roi'ks that hanpj t>'or tho 
cha^ni helow. 



Mi:i»ri'A'i IONS. 



:{Oft 



**()iil," cries l.lit> lender, "hriii!'; on your |iiiis." 

"Mie.k," " Hl.iKJk," ",s(iek," "hI.iic.1v," (niwjird iij^niii; 

"Where ill llii' world is Mud. (Iu'miiui ^'one, 
And where did yon .sliclv your l;isl, pinV" 

Lord li(d|» IIS to hejir our (roiihle iuid c;ire, 
I'lilieiitly, (iiiliiily, without (loH|tiiiriM;j; ; 

And li(d|> iiH out of thin wildenie.sH drear, 
All 1 oh, for/^MVu us lor Hweiiriujj; ! 

An! these the .sweet |de.i.siire,s and JoyH of Hurveyiii^ V 

Whiievcr sayH ho i.s a liar; 
^V1||^ wouldn't rather he throttled oiitri/^ht, 

'J'liaii liiin^ with agraiievin(! or hrior? 



MEDITATION 



■ 4<)^ 

^!\(!|']oii a f^'iitle, peai^'fiil Sal)h,itli day, 
.\k wiiiniiier ill her gladness ever l)r(^;i.th'd 
<)'er this didi^litlul earth I Htroll'd away 
To He(d\ a Hale retreat l''ar IVoiii tlii! liaiiiitH 
And pahuM-H of niini — and hold coiniiiiiiiioii 
With Nature's works, iiiii|;iiirK;ent and ^^'raiid. 
Some llei'Cy (doiids of lii/lit fantastic; shape 
AVero wafted slowly o'er the Uriiiaiiu'iit; 
1'ho warhlin^ soii^^'sters of the wood wen; still, 
As if tiK'y, loo, were iiieditatiii^ on the S(;ene; 
Not e'en a cricket coiihl he heard to (diirp 
In I hat calm, solemn hour. Atiiiterv.ils 
A sound of j)raiH(! from the villa/^'e (diiirch (;ame 



irth, 



30G MEDITATIONS. 

Which, dying in the distance, like distant waterfall. 
At times, drew baclc my thouglits to things of earth. 

llovv peaceful, then, tlie elements above I 
How peaceful all below I In that calm hour 
All things were hu3h'd. How great the contrast! 
The other night, loudly did the thunders roll. 
The lire of ether flashed from pole to pole 
la mad fantastic fury — as if all things 
Must be destroy'd, or hurl'd into the great abyss ; 
And mortal men who boast at other times, 
And utter ungodly oaths — quail'd at the sight. 
As birds of prey, sometimes do flutter in affright. 

O! God, may I once view the Universe, 

In its brightest aspect — its fairest light, 

As in its calmest mood exhibited ; 

When undisturb'd by elemental fury, 

Which sometimes does disturb its harmony, 

As furious passions mar mankind. 

The storms of hail, of snow, of beating rain; 

The rending of the elements, the throes 

The earth herself must sometimes undergo; 

The rushing of her waters, upheaving of 

Her surface, when earthquakes visit her; 

Jiet me o'erlook such ills — if so they may li3 call'd — 

And look on Nature when placid is her face. 

Such irruptions, upheavals, are doubtlessly ordain'd 

To purge the earth of all her filth — which would 

Otherwise become stagnant, and breed disease 

Contagious — And living animals 

3Iust die of the insufferable stench. 

But Thy wise Providence has so ordain'd 

All things that hi, tint health and enjoyniMit, 



THE SOLDIER AND HIS LADY. 307 

May be promoted in Thy creatures here. 
Not only man, but ev'ry living thing, 
lias reason to rejoice in its own being. 
There is variety in all Thy works, 
And all things harmonize beneath Tliy care ; 
The spheres pursue their regular courses still, 
Around the orbs to which they are attach'd ; 
The earth, likewise, is whirl'd around the Sun; 
The seasons come, dispensing life and health. 
In Nature's works there's also beauty great, 
To him who thinks and contemplates aright. 



THE SOLDIER AND HIS LADY. 



CP]RTA1N young lady, just eighteen years old, 
.,„> . Had many young suitors, both gallant and bold; 
tj And bright were her prospects and happy her days, 
As happy as a butterfly in bright, sunny rays. 

She had many offers and proffers to wed, 
How lucky the man tliat would get her, 'twas said, 
Yet none could succeed, till Jack came along, 
A blooming young fellow both hearty and strong. 

But on came the war — the war that is past — 
Great was the bounty — and men came in fast, 
To fight for their country, their freedom and laws, 
And ])eril their lives in the glorious cause. 

And Jack was as brave as the bravest of all, 
So he must go, too, and respond to tlie call ; 



308 THE SOLDIER AND HIS LADY. 

He deem'd it his duty to hasten away, 

Though his lady with tears besought him to stay. 

lie follow'd liis general to meet the grim foe, 
And many poor fellows before him laid low; 
In twenty great battles he foremost was found, 
When horses and riders lay thick on the ground. 

And loud were the shouts and praises he heard, 
And great were the honors npon him conferr'd; 
His prowess, his brav'ry, his skill unsurpass'd, 
Insur'd h:s promotion to high rank at last. 

Thus time roU'd on, and four long years had pass'd, 
When peace was restor'd and brought him home at last, 
With his shoulder straps on and the wealth he'd amass'd, 
But the sound of his praises had come on the blast. 

He sought his young maiden to share in his wealth, 
But vain was the search — for care and ill-health 
Had carried her off — She lay in the ground — 
This, to our hero, was a dangerous wound. 

He wandered about — he grieved and he sighed, 
He wish'd o'er and o'er, in his heart, he had died 
On the battle-field, pierc'd, mangl'd and torn. 
For now he was lonely, and sad, and forlorn. 



^^"^ 



TO LEWIS LEES IN ENGLAND. 



^pOW many years have pass'd and gone — 
J^^ How swift the flight of time — 
jT Since we left Britain's isle to seek 
Columbia's favoi'd clime. 

Impressions strong and deep remain. 

And on our minds are trac'd ; 
Our early friends are not forgot, 

Nor early scenes effac'd. 

]\ricklehurst Moor with her black heath, 
Buckton, "Warmton, Bagley Knowe, 

Mossley, Iioughtown, and Quick Hedge 
Brook Bottom, ^lossley Brow. 

And Tummion Lane, and Tummion Wall, 
Winter-hill, and Shadow's-lane, 

And Greenfield-rocks, and Pots-and-Pans, 
Our memories yet retain. 

We recollect old Dan-at-Brun, 

Old Jack and little Joss; 
And younger friends with whom we've stroH'd, 

O'er hill, o'er heath, and moss. 

The linnet, mope, and sky-lark's notes. 

The throstle and the thrush. 
And other songsters of your isle. 

That sing on twig or bush. 

(.•^OJ) 



310 TO LEWIS LEES IN ENGLAND. 

Though in Glen Rock we hear them not, 

Yet we rejoice to know, 
They gladden yet, and cause the heart, 

With joy to overflow. 

But we have joys you know not of, 

Sweet music, too, we hear; 
We've Katy-dids and cricket3 large, 

Which e'en the night do cheer. 

We've bull-frogs, too, of gorgeous size, 

That bellow in the eve ; 
As well as herring-frogs that chirp, 

Night's dullness to relieve. 

The Whip-poor-Will, among these lines, 

*Tis requisite to note, 
In early spring, at eve and morn. 

With joy he swells his throat. 

The ploughman hears his merry voice. 

Before the twilight gray, 
Adorns the Eastern horizon 

To announce the king of day. 

In short, our hills, our dale?, our fens. 

Are full of life and mirth ; 
So yours is not the only land — 

The favor'd of the earth. 

Our fire-bugs, too, whose sparkling light. 

Enlightens all the air; 
Would frighten you, as Lantern Jack, 

Does frighten and ensnare. 



TO LEWIS LEES IN ENGLAND. 311 

Besides we have a numerous host 

Of birds of plumage rare, 
And though they cannot sing like jours, 

For beauty they'll compare. 

And as to flowers, we have enough 

Of ev'ry form and hue ; 
Your pale and sickly things are not 

A circumstance to view. 

But if you wish to see a sight, 

Come view our forests wide, 
That crown our hills both far and near 

And flourish in their pride. 

And fields of grain on every side 

Are waving in the breeze. 
And Indian corn, the stalks of which 

Would compare with your trees. 

"What man could wish a better treat. 

Than on a pleasant morn, 
To take a walk to Fissel's Church 

And view the infant corn. 

Or fields array'd in living green. 

And peach trees in full bloom, 
And ajiple trees all deck'd in white 

Yielding their rich perfume. 

Or o'er old Shadrack's hill to walk, 

Between tall trees to pass, 
With Ilog-town vale before his eyes, 

And fields like panes of glass. 



312 TO LEWIS LEES IN ENGLAND. 

With not a scrub, or rock, or stamp, 

The plough to incommode, 
Where labor is a pleasant task, 

'Tis Plenty's sweet abode. 

And e'en Glen Eock has charms for those 

Who the sublime admire; 
Her tow'ring hills with lofty thoughts 

The thhiking man inspire. 

To perch on Mark's or Martin's rock 5, 

Away from noise and strife, 
He feels himself above all fear 

And ruminates on life. 

Anon, he sees the iron-horse 
Come rushing through the vale, 

As though destruction were his aim; — 
All trembles in his trail. 

But on our rocks were safe enough, 

We can defy his boast; 
So he may yell and scream and hiss. 

We fear not all his host. 

As eagles on a precipice, 

When winds do rave and blow. 

Look down upon the boist'rous sea 
And scorn the waves below. 



^<s\^^^y&^ 



A DREAM. 

^^AST night I had a dream — an awful dream — 
,'^^, I wish I could relate the whole affiiir 
Tp As it occurred— Furiously was I assail'd 

By thieves and villains vile, with hands imbu'd 
In human blood — They rushed into my house, 
Ransack'd each room, in hopes to find great wealth: 
In this, however, they disappointed were. 
Yet more than once they rallied and return'd, 
Led on by monstrous fiends in human shape. 
I desperately contended for myself 
And my household — and thought myself a hero ; 
But finally a fiendish demon came. 
Who by the throttle seized and held me fast; 
And others came and stabb'd me through and through, 
And hurl'd their deadly missiles at my head. 
It seem'd that I was doom'd — beyond all hop?. 
Yet could" not be subdued — My arm grew weaker, 
But my soul would not give up the ghost. 
Vengeance — vengeance was still upon my tongue; 
It seem'd as if I had a hundred lives, 
Each equal to a thousand furies. 
I pitch'd them through the windows one by one, 
Or two by two, as though they'd been but mice; 
Their shooting irons I no more heeded. 
Than bits of paper-wads shot through a quill. 
With boots and broken chairs I laid them low. 
And trampl'd on them like a warrior's horse; 

(313) 



314 THE COURTSHIP. 

And though they kill'd me o'er ami o'er agmD,. 
I rose as fresh as over, as barks in storms 
Upon the billows rise and sink, and rise again. 
For one whole day and night did I conteiul 
Against tliese foes — It seeniM that hell ha I broken looset. 
At length this warfare cejis'd, and I became 
Unconscious of my whereabouts — but thought 
I felt myself descending — lower — lower — lower, 
And wonder'd if I e'er should reach the bottonv 
Just then a puff of hot, sulphureous air 
Did waft me up again — higher than before 
Like a heap of hay in a whirlwind borne. 
Thus did 1 sink and rise alternately 
For a long period — until I wish'd myself 
Out of existence. The trees I envied, 
xVnd e'en the very stones — lamenting sore- 
That I was not like one of them — devoid 
Of consciousness and feeling. 



THE COURTSHIP. 



SAW her cast on him an eye, 

TAnd he return'd the glance; 
I saw her heave for him a sigh, 
With blushins: countenance. 



From that time forth she could not rest;. 

For love her heart possess'd ; 
And he felt that which ne'er before 

Was felt within his breast 



THE COUUTSHII'. 31i 

I5j accident they came together, 

Or rather by design ; 
Por he sought her, and she sought him, 

Their feelings to define. 

They talk'd of what they felt and fear'd, 

Did not conceal a thought. 
Until the net that catches heartp, 

Was fairly round them wrought. 

They stroll'd o'er hill, and field, and dale. 

Without fatigue or fear; 
"The landscape never greener seem'd, 

The sun ne'er shone more clear. 

The birds ne'er sang more sweet than on 

That day they sang for them; 
The grapes in clusters fine and sweet, 

Hung dangling from the stem. 

They sat them down beneath a bower. 

Her head upon- his breast; 
They sang to emulate the birds, 

And fancied they were bless'd. 

Nor did they leave their sweet retreat 

Till Sol far in the West 
Descended 'neath the hills and trees. 

In all his splendor drees'd. 

And ere they left their mutual vows 

Were seal'd with kisses sweet; 
The day and hour were nam'd, which should 

Their happiness complete. 



THE GYPSY FORTUNE-TELLER. 

^P (JYPSY lean — a filthy wench, 
S^ With face sunburnt and brown; 
jf AVith plump young baby on her bacic, 
Came jogging through the town. 

ller black hair hung iu ringlets o'er 

Her shoulders and her back ; 
Dishevel'd and uncomb'd they were, 

And dangl'd on her pack. 

Great curiosity she rais'd 

Among the gaping crowd : 
At length a rumor was sent forth 

Among the gay and proud, 

That she could fortunes tell, about 

The future and the past. 
Both by the stars and by the palm, 

And by the cards, as fast, 

As she could shufHe them about, 
IJy which she made great gains; 

And thus the wonder grew, and fill'd 
The giddy youngster's brains. 

The ladies follow'd her to know 

Their future destiny; 
To learn their matrimonial luck, 

And future husbands see. 

(316) 



1MIS3 MARY AND HER BEAUX. 317 

The fair contended earnestly 

That all she told was true ; 
A^d the young men, to please the fair, 

Must hear their fortunes, too. 

'Of course, their fortunes all were good, 

And those who paid the most 
The best luck in this life would have, 

And on the other coast. 

Por e'en the cards and e'en the stars, 

All seem'd to know full well, 
That those who paid the Gypsy best, 

In happiness should dwell. 



MISS MARY AND HER BEAUX. 

Ik RI'jALLY lov'd John, before he was gone, 
jf^Lj And he lov'd me for my own sake; 
tf And long I griev'd then, to part with my man, 
lUit afterward took up with Jake. 

I sent John a letter, I felt somewhat better, 

For Jacob was walking me round; 
And Ned was bewitch'd, like a colt unhitch'd, 

Running out to the pasture ground. 

John wrote to me back, he would not take the sack, 

]5ut wasn't I in a quandary then ? 
It troubl'd my brain, and rack'd me with pain, 

For I'd promis'd myself to Ben. 



318 MISS MA.RY AND HER BEAUX. 

Next Jiikey came back, with a limp and a smack, 

AVith a mule and a carriage fine ; 
He ofFer'd me a ride, which flatter'd my pride — 

I could not the offer decline. 

While riding along, he press'd me so strong. 

To accept once more his adJress; 
I pitied poor Jake, as he tremblingly spake. 

And long'd his large farm to posses?. 

And I'm somewhat asham'd, though the day was not 
named, 

I promis'd, that I must own ; 
But Glen Hock boys mock'd, "he was not half rock'd, 

A slav'ring calf overgrown." 

So Levi came next, but without a pretext. 

Some wild lads unseen and unknown — 
They drove off his horse, so Levi, of course. 

Went homeward afoot and alone. 

With so many beaux, you may well suppose, 

One cannot well tell what to do; 
But Levi propos'd, the bargain was closVl, 

We will soon no longer be two. 



^"^"^ 



THE GYPSIES ARE COMING. 



tChoriis. 
HE Gypsies are coming O ho, ho, 
,.;^ The Gypsies are coming ho, ho, 
"Ij The Gypsies are coming our fortunes to tell, 
The Gypsies are coming away let us go. 

Away ^\ent my lady, away went Miss Fan, 
Away went ^Miss Sappho along with her mar, 
Away went Miss Small-Shoes as fast as she could, 
To know if their fortunes were evil or good. 
The Gypsies are coming, &c. 

Now run for gold dollars, your silver wont do, 
They'll tell for a dollar, but still more for two. 
The more you will give them, the more you'll be glad, 
But offer a quarter your luck Avill be bad. 
The Gypsies are coming, &c. 

" Our husbands and daddies are crying 'Jinrd times^ 
And fain would they hoard up and treasure their dimes, 
]Jut what is their meaning, or what do we care, 
And Avhat is a dollar or ten to the fair." 

The Gypsies are coming, &c. 

Miss Small-Shoes and Sappho and Fanny all went. 
On a wild-goose chase or a buffalo hunt; 
They search'd every dingle for leagues all around, 
But not e'en a wizzard or witch could be found. 
The Gypsies are coming, t&c. 

(319) 



320 JESSE AND XAKCY. 

They came back all weary, all weak, and way-worn, 
Such a trounce they had not since the day they were born ; 
They mourned and they fretted their visages green. 
To see the sly elfin, the great Gypsy queen. 

The Gypsies are coming, &c. 

They are soon coming back from beyond the Great Sea, 
The great Mammoth Cave, or where'er they may be, 
To encamp at Seitzland and a jubilee hold, 
Where ninnies inhabit with less sense than gold. 

The Gypsies are coming, &c. 

O wake up Glen Kock, from your lethargy rise, 
And shell out your dollars — be liberal and wise; 
The Gypsies will tell you the future and pist, 
And show you the place you will come to at last 

The Gypsies are coming, &c. 



JESSE AND NANCY. 






BUT she was a pretty girl, 
A pretty girl was Nancy, 
'"n'7 Her blooming face, her comely grace 
Quite suited Jesse's fancy. 

'Tw.i3 at Lowe's cJmp some years ago, 
"Where pretty girls were active. 

Among them all there was not one 
So winning and attractive. 



JESSE AND NANCY. 321 

And Jess could not resist her charms, 

Deep in love he fell, really, 
because she had such Avinning ways, 

And she was dress'd so gaily. 

Ah, sure thought he, here is a prize, 

Thai's leally worth tlie winning, 
She's rich as Queen Victoria, 

To court her is not sinning. 

So he talk'd love, and she talk'd love. 

They laugh'd and jok'd so cheerly, 
There were not two upon the ground. 

That hugg'd and lov'd more dearly. 

Then he must see her safe at home, 

And view her large plantations, 
And ask her father for her hand. 

With high anticipations. 

No mansions on their way they pass'd. 

But Jess was nowise weary, 
Had he not been so deep in love, 

The way would have been dreary. 

At length they anchor'd in a hut 

An old fat-lamp was burning; 
A superannuated dame 

Sat in the corner churning. 

Some half a dczm herring fish, 

Hung in the chimney drying, 
A few old rusty bacon col lops, 

On a rusty stons were frying. 



822 MY UUANPMOTIIKU'S DAYS. 

This was too Jiiucli for Joss to tear, 

lie now folt eick aiul wo:iry, 
And would have left, but dreaded night, 

And the wilderness so dreary. 

So he concluded not to go, 

Hut tarry here till morning, 
]\Ieanwhile his love was on t'le wane, 

And tliis siiould be a warning. 

When morning dawn'd he hied away, 
Througii swamps, and woods, and water. 

Nor etopp'd to ask tiie good old sire. 
To let him have his daughter. 



-» — •»*^- 



MY GRANDMOTHER'S DAYS. 



TflOSKj glorious days, 
As grandmother says, 
When she was young, and stout, and merry, 
"There were nice folks then. 
Both women and men, 
As fat and as jilump as a cherry. 

"There were none of those fashions. 

And soul-tearing passions, 
No grasping and grabbing for money; 

We all had enough 

Of the substantial stuO', 
We had meat and bread, milk and honey. 



MY grandmother's DAYS. 32$ 

"A lump of fat pork, 

And plenty of work, 
Corn cakes and pone, and sanr-kniut plenty ; 

We were not discontent, 

And carM not a cent 
For your cakes and your jellies so dainty. 

" ]<'alse teeth and false hair 

And fine clothes to wear, 
Wc knew naught and car'd naught about theniy 

Your silks and your fringe, 

With their rose-color'd tinge. 
We were well contented without them. 

"With a calico dress. 

That cost u's much less, 
Or linscy our own han Is had made ; 

We thought that would do, 

And the beaux thought so, too, 
Who likewise their homespun display'd. 

** So the days y)a6bM by. 

And swiftly did lly, 
And the time went merrily on ; 

Let it shine or rain, 

It gave m no pain, 
And our work was cheerfully done. 

"What a great contrast, 

Twixt the. present and past. 
Now, maidens and matrons arc few; 

They are ladies, they say, 

'J'hey lounge and they play, 
And frizzing and fixing is most that they do. 



!^vM iiii: soNc; or tiik mtti.k luun. \vinTTi.iMni.Mv. 

" What u i>ity, my son, 

Tlioso good diiYS iiro i^ouc. 
WluMi !v wilV li!Vil a slu'op and a cow ; 

Sho oinild .spill. Knit and sew, 

And niako the work i^o. 
\\ liilo (ho luisbind was followiiii; liis plougli. 

*' I'Mit how is it now ? 

Will may wo ask how ; 
lUit 'tis no us.' to toll you, 1 soo, 

Marry ono of thoso llirts, 

\'on'll got your deserts, 
Uottor hang yourself first on a tree." 



THE SONG OF THE LITTLE BIRD, WHITTLE-DICK. 



|AV, have you never heard, that merry little birv], 



•S'i 11^' '^ '>^^ bigger than a mouse, 
'IT And yet t he whole day long, he sings his merry song^ 

In front of Mr. Hurns's house 
As near as 1 ean tell, as well as I csm spell, 

• ris •• Whittlede-whit ! Whittle-de-whit! " 

lie ha^ a little wile, who's de.ir to hiiu as life. 

Their nest is on a shady tree, 
.\ud while the lady's hatching, the gentleman iswatching. 

Meanwhile he's singing elieerily. 
His lovely little song, it i.s not very long — 

•• Whittle de-whit: W'hittle-de whit '. " 

I'pon that shady tree, frvun all intruders tree. 
Their days it\ happiness arc spent. 



TOM DA 1(111 KK TV. 



.•J2.1 



\'\u' Id, i(, Hliitm or lain, l.licy invir do (!()iii|»liiiii, 

I'lll, iilwayH Hnciii lo 1)1' CDiilriil, ; 
JIc iiopH from liinl) i.(> liiiii), il, in Ixii, play lo him - 

'« WhiLLle-de-wliit! VVIiiLUo-d.r-wliin " 

'J'lio wrilcr of tlicHc; rliyiiKtH, was oviirjoycil al Uiiiob, 

'I'o li(!iir this merry singer sin^, 
l''(ii- ill tiic rnoriiiii^(!arly, th(! bird would vvaki'liim fairif 

With iiis iiKriiy voio<;'H liii//; 
Jlc'd 0|)0 IiIh lilti(; hill, and then say lotid and Hhiill, 

*'Whil,I.I(;-d(;-whiU Whi(,l,lr;-dc-whit! " 

If" yoii'ic i»('i|»h'xrd vvil.h lioiihlc, iC harddiipH hciid yoB 
doiihic, 

''I'wiil «'anr, your licart- and iiialu; you Hl-roiifi^, 
.Just at tin; hrcak ol' day, Homo pioaHaiit morn in May, 

To Hpoml an hour and hear thin hoii,!% 
I'm Hiiri' you'll not rc^M'ct i(, you iK'vri- can ("or^^ci if,: 

"\Vhill,h--d.--\vhit! \Vliitl.l.;-dc-vvliit!" 



TOM DAUGIIRnTY. 



aBpAST Sutnmor 'I'om I)aup;h('rl.y mow'd for mr; 
,^^™ Ho mow'd with the youn/^ and tin; Htron;.^; 
tp And h(5 thoii^Mit ho could mow uh W(dl us the h<'^l, 
And could cndiin; lh<; lical, a'H lon^. 

Il<- iiad l)Oii;'|jt lor himHcdf a hran-ni-w Hcyllic, 

And hravf'Iy Ik; kept it a goin^'; 
And hf m\d that h*; hop'd for (he M'ixt ten ycarw, 

To l<-ad the yoiin;.^ (V-llowH al mowin;(. 



3'2() THE HEN AND IlKIi lUiOOD OK DUCKS. 

l>iit wliore is ho now — can any one toll us? 

Will ho mow with that scytho this yoar? 
AVill he lau<;h ami joke and tell his line (ales? 

Ah no — the stout old man's not liere. 

He was seventy-seven, but ho thought lie was young, 
Anil fain wouhl lie have ns believe 'twas so ; 

But his lace was wrinklM, and his brow was lin'd, 
And liis hair was as white as the snow. 

Last Christmas a messens;er oanio in a hurry — 
When slush and snow bad travoliui^ made — 

With a summons lor Tom to come ibrtliwith ; 
A summons that Tom could not evade. 

He had breakfjisted early, and call'd for his pipe, 
And was ready to have a s;ood smoke: 

But his ohook turn'd i>alo, and his oyoi grew dim, 
And his tongue not a word more spjko. 

!So Tom will not mow for nio any more. 
With that scytho that he said would shav^'; 

For 1 holp'd to carry his lifeless romiiins, 
And 1 holpM to fill up his grave. 



THE HEN AND HER BROOD OF DUCKS. 



j||'i||AME Poulterer 'mongst her stock of hens, 
'i^^ One noble hen had she; 
^ Her feathers were a glossy black, 
!She strutted gaudily. 

And ev'ry time she laid an egg, 
►She rais'd a sidutt'ring clatter; 



TIIK II KN AND IlKR lUlOOI) OF DUCKS. :}27 

Tlje rooster Ciuiie a cacklin;^, too, 
To ask what was tlic matter. 

Slie made herself a downy neat, 

Beneatli one of tlie ricks ; 
liesolv'd that if all thiii<(.s went right, 

She'd raise a brood of chicks. 

J3ut when she got a dozen eg^js, 

All ready for her bed. 
Dame I'onlt'rer took them ont, and put 

Hig duck eggs in their stead. 

She sat npon them night and day, 

For four weeks, mon; or leas; 
When she began to crack the shells, 

How great was her distress. 

For lo — Tiicy were the <lroIIest chicks, 

IJroad bills and jjlodding feet; 
She oluck'd for them as if for chicks, 

And they replied — "weet — weet! " 

She turn'd her head upon one side, 

To view the whistling things ; 
And shelter'd them from cold and wet, 

Beneath her spacious wings. 

But straight they waddl'd to the pond ; 

They swam, they ate, they drank ; 
And she was forc'd to follow thejn. 

And loiter on the bank. 

She cluck'd in vain to call them out, 
The coots — '1 Iny would Jiot hoar her; 



328 THE LAST DAYS OF SUMMER. 

Or else they did not understand, 
For not a one came near her. 

They would not heed her voice at all — 
To keep on dry clean ground ; 

Besides they puddl'd in the sinks, 
And ev'ry mud-hole round. 

They tried her patience, oft and long, 

They ate such dirty food ; 
She must have thought, and sure they were, 

A motley, mongrel brood. 

At length she was so mortified, 

To linger on the shore, 
She ceas'd to cluck — and let them go, 

Kesolved to hatch no more. 



THE LAST DAYS OF SUMMER. 



1^11 E last days of Summer are passing away; 
^^ The trees of the forest that lately look'd gay, 
j] )Jegin to look lonely and sad to the view ; 
Their beautiful foliage is changing its hue. 

The gay sylvan songsters that merrily sang. 
Whose sweet vocal music in harmony rang. 
Through field, and through forest, in glad summer time, 
Maye long since retired to a warmer clime. 

Old Phoebus looks down from his throne in the sky. 
And Fancy can see a big tear in his eye. 
The winds are now blowing a chill, piercing blast. 
And seem to be sighing for days that are past. 



THE BUTTERFLY. 329 

The flowers are prostrated before the keen blast, 
Which warns us that winter is coming on fast; 
The liills and the dales, the fields and the meads, 
To mourn for past pleasures have put on their weeds. 

How sad the occasion — how solemn the theme! 
Time's passing away — and life's but a dream — 
Its waves like the waves of the ocean, roll on, 
Forever and aye, like the roll of the sun. 

Young men, and young maidens, you well may look sad, 
When you think of the loss of the pleasures you've had ; 
The soft, balmy breezes, the birds and the flowers. 
No longer can cheer with their sweet, soothing powers. 

But learn well this lesson, for sure 'tis the truth. 
You too, must succumb in despite of your youth; 
Look not on the scene with indiff''rence and frown, 
For the sickle of Time is cutting you down. 

You may think there are many bright Summers to come. 
And like the gay butterflies long you may roam; 
But Winter is coming — relentless the foe — 
The Winter of Death that will lay your heads low. 



THE BUTTERFLY. 



^EEIOLD the gilded butterfly, 
^^ IIow rich, how gaudy and how gay ; 
TT She's naught to do beneath the sky. 
But flutter in the sunny ray. 

Now sipping nectar from the flow'r. 

Now with her merry kindred sporting; 

23* 



:j:U) 



'iHK itrrrKivi'i.v, 



.N(»\v in Iho nil" sho sjumuIs nn liour, 

W illi somo f',{illivnt ons^iiuM in court injj, 

AihI tints luT low short diiya aro passM, 
111 uport jiutl oiuthly ploiisiiroa hero; 

'J'ill omly Aiilumn'8 chilly hlast, 

HIows «>'or hor win^;; tiiul o.iids lu-r shv>rt o.iroor. 

J^uoh \V(i8 tho talo ot* lady b'siir, 

Sho too was ^iuuly, rioh uiul gtiy ; 
Anil for !V sotvson diil sho shiuv, 

Tho plo.'isuros ninl tho joys ()t" May, 

1 loolvM n[K»n lu<r blooming ohook, 

Wov fair whito brow ami siniling lip; 

Hut oh, I ilivl not ilaro to spouk. 
(>r siiiilo iip(>n lior lailyship. 

IWit vcars hail llowii I lookM a.v;aiii — 

That blooiuiuj^i ohook wh.s thin ami \y,\\o'. 

That lair whito bn>w was wrinklM, thon, 
That graool'ul TorMi was bowM nuil frail. 

'I'iio Knoly ilays of May liavl passM, 

Aiul with thoui nil hor ohanus hail tloil ; 

And liko tho butlortly, ut last. 

f^ho olosM hor ovos anion >• tho iloail. 



^' (j:*^*:|y* 



TiiK ciiKA'i'iiK:::: OF amkhica. 

'T^l^ll l')N(JI'l coMicH it LlmL Aniorica's so ^lea'/? 
', '* ^ Nc'iT WiiH 11 NiilJoii, ufi IOiii|)iro, or a Htat/i 
tr So )»roH|H'r()UH — Of all Uio Nal-ioiiH on Lhin Hpliero, 
Ann ri(;;i, l.lic groatcfit (J(j(H ;i|)|)<'U1'. 

TJH hut two ccnturic'«, or llirco, ago, 
TIk! ti(J«! of ofiiip^ration 'gan to flow; 
Tliin continent wan then a wiMjind waste, 
Jnliahileij by Hava;^; man an<l beaut. 

Now Hava;.^<5 men iunl nava.^! beiiHtu imve lori, 
Anil ev'ry wlieic; iw He<!ii iii(|ii;-)(iy idid tliiill,; 
An inlelli/.^ent and Hiiperior race 
or bi|)i-dH, now do oecnjiy their place. 

What can b<) naid of tbiii Kupenoi' race, 

Which drove the Hava^eH and now occupy their placoV 

Why, they poH«(:fl8 th<j HcienceH, find art-i, 

They till th'j land— Hnpply Iho niartn 

With all that'8 needed lor the HiiHtenanco of life, 

'I'hey'rc not cup^n'^'d in bloody warH and Htrife; 

'i'hey live in Hfdtled hornex- -in houHen graruJ, 

And not in wi;^waniH <lott<:d o'er tli<i land. 

"Ah ! " but the iudiauH Hay, " you etolo our landw, 
Wo were compellM to yield to your conirnandH, 
l'"or we. conid not your hold aHHanltH withntand, 
Vow ioiib;d NH, yoM worsted n;i on i:\'iy hand. 

cm I 



332 THE GREATNESS OF AMERICA. 

"And after this, you drove us to the "West; 
But even there, you did not let us rest; 
Your fathers us'd us ill, and well they knew it, 
Your wise men did not tell them not to do it. 

^*If conscience told them that their deeds were wrong, 

They did not seem to mind the warning long, 

Ah, you forget the Indian is a man ! 

And in your dealings, cheat him when you can." 



*^ But why should we regard the Indian's complaint ? 
They needs must be put under some restraint, 
If they imagine they've been wrong'd, you know, 
'lis all the same to them as though 'twere so. 

"A Pagan race like this, unciviliz'd. 

That will not be tam'd or christianiz'd, 

Should we regard their complaints, or their prayers? 

no, our rights are paramount to theirs. 

*'The Anglo-Saxon race possess great skill. 
And energy, back'd by a stubborn will ; 
Whate'er it undertakes, it ne'er goes back, 
Surmounts all obstacles found in its track. 

"This active race, is destin'd to spread and rise, 
The world to civilize and christianize. 
And all wild tribes that stand in its way. 
Must flee at once, or must its laws obey. 

"If they cannot be conquer'd by mild means. 
Force must be us'd, though it result in bloody scenes; 
This vast extent of land, was ne'er created. 
To lie waste, as once it did, uncultivated. 



THE GREATNESS OF AMERICA. 333 

"And though these savages, our frontiers may assail, 
'Tis all in vain — their efforts are of no avail; 
AVoe be to them if they attempt again, 
O'er us to exercise their barbarous reign. 

"We'll raise no controversy, but we'll fight, 
"We'll argue not the question, 'Is it right,' 
But when we want the land, which they now claim, 
We'll take possession of it, in our own name. 

"We'll flatter them and humor them no more, 

As we and our fathers did heretofore. 

Nor lavish gifts and favors on them, 

But like a hurricane we'll come upon them."' 



" White man, it grieves us much, it gives us pain, 
To hear you talk in such a warlike strain, 
We know your power, of this we need not speak, 
You are a mighty people, while we are weak. 

" We, once were strong, and you were lueaJc, you know. 
When we were strong, we did not treat you so, 
We treated you as gentlemen of feelings, 
You found us just and fair in all our dealings. 

" We ask you not, your favors and gifts, to grant ; 

no, our natural rights are all we want, 

And flattery, we always did detest. 

Give that to babes, for it will suit them best." 



a«Nig^^^)/®^ 



THE POOR INDIAN. 



ySiLOOMY and sullen, o'er mountain and plain, 
e!^*, He toils for a livelihood only, not gain, 
t[ As game becomes scarcer, and hunting grounds less, 
He broods o'er the thoughts of his future distress* 

There is something in the poor Indian's fate, 
To excite our sympathy, rather than hate, 
With hardships and cares, they waste away fast, 
And what will the race ever come to at last? 

No wonder that sadness is seen in his face, 
No wonder despair in his heart finds a place, 
For he knows, and he feels the weight of his sorrow, 
Nor will his hopes and his prospects be brighter to- 
morrow. 

'Tis some consolation, however, to dwell on 
The thoughts of that land whither his fathers have gone. 
Whither at no distant day, he'll be call'd to his own. 
Where distress and oppression and want are unknown. 

There's no hope for him here, no rest and no p3ace. 

Nor can his posterity ever increase; 

His country is going, and his means of support 

Are decreasing for hunting and fishing's his only resort. 

Why doesn't he turn his attention to fiirming, 
This would just suit him — 'tis delightful and charming, 
'Tis a wonder he doesn't learn to plough and to plant, 
He then could have plenty, and need never want. 

(331) 



TO MR. PHILO. 335 

"But no," says the Indian, "that we never could learn, 
'Twill suit the White folks, thus their living to earn; ^ 
But the Eed Man subsists on the fruits of the chase, 
And he likes to be roving from place to place." 



TO MR. PHILO. 



«|WOW cock up your hat, Mr. Philo, 
£^^ If you haven't a penny to spend ; 
tr Though all your neighbors discard you, 
And refuse you, a dollar, to lend. 

Yet never mind that, Mr. Philo, 

If poor, and in debt, never show it; 

If YOU owe for your hat, and your coat, 

AVhat business has -'Zigzag" to know it? 

If slanders your foes heap upon you. 
Attempt not dear Philo to trace them ; 

But keep your head up, and a stiff upper lip, 
And with stolid indifference out-face them. 

Though times are not easy, just now, Mr. Philo, 
You know 'twill not always be so; 

Your relatives are rich, and are now growing old. 
And soon will their heads be laid low. 

Old "Zigzag" may sneer at the idea, 
And tell the vulgar illiterate folks. 

That your rich old uncle is naught but a myth. 
And all his great wealth is a hoax : 



336 KI-K(1Y ON I'OOU MTTI.K O.KSAlt. 

liiit if WO all live we slmll sec it, 

And when yon tluit rich legacy get, 

'Tia hop'd you will live an innocent life, 
And never again run in deht. 

\'on can't owe a dime, in tliia ill-fatod clime, 
Hilt ov'ry vain tattler must know it; 

Yon can't have a hole in your stocking, or coat, 
Hut tliey'ie pointing their lingers to sliow it. 

Yon cim't i)roinenaile in the cool of the eve, 
Without meeting some villainous scorner; 

You can't turn around, in your own little house, 
Hut they ogle and peep round tlie corner. 

Il"yi>u l»;ive a lino hat, a waist-coa*, or bootji. 
Or pants, that are decent, and lit you, 

Tlie wretcdied old Sots, the vile Hottentots, 
Are slinging their nasty mini at you. 

And then that old "Zigzag" — a plague upon him- 
Ilo writes a sheet of rib:iltlry ami slang; 

And has it. printed in 80!ne lilthy paper — 

The mean old sneak — I could see him hang. 



ELEGY OM POOR LITTLE CAESAR, 
My Friond'a Favorite Dog. 



||^ S ('a's;ir ilead — when did he die? 
,J'™, hush — prepare your.^elf to cry- 
|P lie was a creature of high price, 
'Tis hop'd he's gone to I'aradive. 



ELEnV ON I'OOR IJTTLK CI'lHAU. .'137 

Poor little fellow! What? W/io killM liiiii? 
Whoe'er ho was the devil willM him — 
The vile yoiini^ wretch — -how ooiiid he do it? 
It was a aiti — and sure Ik^ knew it. 

" lie died wiLhoiif, a ^^roati or hark ! " 

Who was the sexton ? *• Mr. Mark." 

Who preach'd the funeral fiernion ? "(y'harley" — 

So here's an end of little Snarhty. 

Draw near ye curs, and all ye dogH, 
That ever trotted o'er the ho^'s, 
And howl a dirge o'er this your brother ; 
iiike iiim you'll never llnd another. 

Ye rocks round Simon's Monument, 
And Sion, your lamentations vent, 
liikewise the Peak of Tenerilfe, 
Prepare yourselves to show your grief. 

Ye vales and dingles round (ilcn Rock, 
Prepare yc to receive the shock ; 
Ye ground-hogs — all ye cony race, 
Ife o'er encounter'J in the chase. 

Though oft ye ran to rook or port, 
IIo only chas'd for other's sport ; 
lie bore no malice — envy— nay — • 
But was kind-hearted in his way. 

(Jomc, view the grave where Cur^ar's laid, 
And plant ye flowers that never fade ; 
(Jome, pay a tribute to the dead, 
And place a tombstone o'er his head. 



Stt 



ON POOR BUSH. 
Another Favorite Dog of My Own. 



N^Jl^llA'J'! Jiiisli deud, too— my lavorilc pet? 
yilWs Don't shock me tliiia — don't makti mo iVet- 
Ij Who Hiiw liim dio!'' 'i\>m, you wcie near — 
Wlnit said ho of his past careor? 
Wlnit said he of the other worUl, 
To which ho suddenly was hurl'd ? 

THE DYING WORDS OF POOR BUSH. 

Ah, woo is me— no friends have I, 
I'm wantonly ooiuU-nmod to die; 
I'm wounded by the nuirksman, sore, 
I groan, and welter in my gore. 

The onl\ fivult my l\)ea could bring, 
Was sueking eggs — a trilling thing — 
While other dogs of greater faults,, 
Protected are from all assaults. 

O what a liekle creature, man I 
How inconsiderate is his j)lan I 
lie has no mercy on poor dogs, 
Nor rata, nor mice, nor toads, nor frogs.. 

O that I'd stay'd with poet Martin! 
It grieves me sore to think of j)arting; 
But when yon see him do not fail 
To toll him this, my dying tale: 

(338) 



THE I.AUOIIER, THE FARMKR, ETC. b39 

Tom, tell him this, though I suck'd eggs, 
And oft escaped on my Hwift legs, 
lie's very kind, und will not blame, 
Bnt always will revere my name. 

Kind CiBsar's* dead, and gone before me, 
And (Jarlo hopes he's gone to glory; 
And I'm jtrepar'd to meet hi»n there. 
Where we'll be free from ev'ry snare. 



THE LABORER, THE FARMER AND THE MERCHANT. 
Each Complains of His Hard Lot. 



m N trav'ling o'er this Christian Nation, 
^J t.' t^ome facts are learned by observation ; 
ir Some stubborn facts, in ev'ry place, 
Jielating to the human race. 

There's great commotion in the masses, 
A restlessness })ervades all classes, 
And great contention may be seen, 
In ev'ry place where we have been. 

You ask, what is it all about? 
There's something wrong without a doubt, 
Or why these sighs and groans we hear, 
All over this terraqueous sphere? 



• BubIj bud etrayed away from home, and learned bad tricks, and some 
-wanton youth vhot him. lie bad become acquainted with Cu^aar before 
■that noble little dog's death. Hence hl^ allusion to blm. 



340 THE LABORER, THE FARMER 

Hay after day the air is rent, 
AVitli oiulloss soiinils of discontent; 
Now, lot us hear their mournful tales. 
Their constant nuirmurings and their wails* 

The lab'rer on the turnpike road, 
As if weighed down with cumbrous load 
Of caro, in strains not much refin'd, 
Unburthens thus, his anxious mind: 

THE LABORER'S COMPLAINT. 

" I'm poor and weak — hard is my fate — 
From early morn 'till ev'ning late, 
I'm doom'd to toil and drudge and sweat, 
And but a pittance do I get. 

"Tiio easy farmer, rich and high. 
In splendid equipage rides by, 
"Who makes his thousands ev'ry year, 
"While I in poverty labor here. 

"He has all things that heart desires, 
!More than necessity requires; 
! did I but ]>ossess a farm ! 
I'd live at ease and fear no harm. 

""Why should the farmer e'er complain, 
"Who's naught to do but sow his grain, 
And reap and thresh and count his gains? 
No need has he to rack his brains." 

THE FARMER'S COMPLAI^'T. 

" No, that's a lie "—the farmer says, 
"As great a lie as you can raise; 
Crops sometimes fail, as you must know. 
And when they're //otx/, the price is low. 



AND THE MERCHANT. 341 

" You think we lead an easy life, 
Exempt from labor, care or strife; 
But, try it if you will, and then, 
We'll talk the matter o'er again. 

"■• Hut for the present cease your clatter, 
Till you know something of the matter; 
^'ou think our (jains of great amount, 
You fool — There are no gains to count. 

" Your vain complaints provoke my mirth, 
I'll ask — was e'er on God's green earth, 
A creature doom'd to earn his crust, 
"With greater toil than farmers must? 

^* Great efforts, both of hands and mind, 
And great economy combined ; 
These, all are requisite, and more, 
To keep starvation from the door. 

■"I've been a farmer twenty years, 
I've worked with hordes, mules and steers; 
The summer's heat and winter's cold, 
I've borne, and now I'm getting old. 

"And I'm a.s poor as 30U are, still, 
With all my labor and my skill ; 
I ride from home, sometimes, 'tis true — 
But that I am obliged to do. 

"If I, wlien young, had learn'd a trade, 
Or had I been a merchant bred, 
I might retire from business now. 
With health and sunshine on my brow: 



3t\l TIIK I.VUOltKIl, THK KAUMKU 

'* Willi wiultli onou^li, ami soino to spire; 
1 now iiiii;liL lay ns'ido all caiv, 
'I'ho roiniiaiit of my days to spcnil, 
In ju'aco uiul lost, unto tlu' oiul." 

THK MEIiCHANT'J COMI'LAINT. 

*• Ah!" says tho inorcliant, " you'ro niist;ikon, 
For I've biTii tossM ami raokoil ami sliaken, 
'Till there's but little left, ut length, 
Of lifi', or energy, or sfreni^th. 

" Years have 1 spent without success — 
(Ah! 1 couKl wish their nuniber K'ss). 
l>y day my energies were sti'aiiuHJ, 
Ami then, at night, my soul was paiuM. 

"Sleep o['l rel'usM to close my eyes, 
For stocks ami shares ami nierchaiulise, 
Ami ledgers, revel I'd in my head. 
And sleep was frigiited iVom my bed. 

'"01 the bewitching wiles of gain! 
1 overtajk'il and racked my brain; 
For my chief object then wa? wealth, 
AVitlu>nt regard to riiK>s of health. 

•' I) had I ne'er to niercliandising gone, 
And earn'd ujy bread as you have done, 
Hy honest labor and fair dealing, 
Not by chicanery and stealing! 

'* I've handled lots ot" monev, surely, 
To set me up in lite securely ; 
l^ut circnmst^meos have been such, 
I still am far from being rich. 



AND THE MERCHANT. 343 

**IIigh notions rul'd my family, 
They mix'd in high society; 
My friend, you'd be surprised to know, 
Whiit money's spent for foolisli show. 

" Of vanity there is no end ; 
The more some make, the more they spend ; 
Among the Elite, as they're styl'd. 
Extravagance is running wild. 

"Then, there are nps and dovnis in trade; 
I've known those of the highest grade, 
"Who long had flourished in their pride, 
And eail'd before the wind and tide, 

" As if they could defy the Fates, 
And ever hold their rich estates ; 
But storms and tempests drear and dark. 
At last assail'd and wreck'd their bark. 

**Ah \ fires and floods, disease and death. 
Attack the higii and stop their breath ; 
Thowgii penury the j»>oor man chills, 
The rich escape not other ills. 

" AVhen these * Ilird Times ' — so call'd — came on, 
Banks clos'd and confidence was gone ; 
The rich were seen about the town, 
Alarmed that stocks were coming down. 

" The Kailroad King and Millionaire, 
As well as merchants had their care; 
They had their trials, and in brief, 
From high positions came to grief. 



344 HEFLECTIONS ON THE ABOVE. 

" They're even poorer now, by far, 
Than piiupcrs in the alins-hous^; iire ; 
For these, at least have peace of mind, 
lUif tliose, few pleasant moments fiiul." 



REFLECTIONS ON THE ABOVE. 

What I would Do if 1 had the Power. 

flJUl 11 ! liud 1 bnt tlie power and means to do it, 
.^S I'd turn my thoughts and wliole attention to it! 
jf I'd kindle the ambition of our youth, 
Inspire the skeptic with desire for truth. 

Vi\ clieer tlie heavy-laden on his way, 
And dress the maid in silk and satin gay; 
I'd conjfort those in trouble and in fear. 
And raise the lowest pauper to a peer. 

I'd raise tlie mendicant to power and wealth ; 
And give the poor sick jiatient strength and health ; 
I'd give the toil-worn farmer plenteous crops, 
I'd feed the hungry man and grease his chops. 

'J'hen I'd be glail, and so rejoice, to see 
All ilisalleeteil classes on equality, 
And happy and contented with their lot; 
This sinful earth were than a lovely spot. 

l'\)r rivalry and iiunity would cease, 

Hiscord and strife, and war must sink to peace; 

And then mankind must cea5e their wrangling pother, 

"Nor longer rant and rail at one another. 



AIA. 

5|i|?llEN Sol returns from the sunny South, 
^^ Inwreuthed in smiles and gladness, 
tr His presence dissipates :ill gloom, 
And drives away all sadness. 

His sunbeams play on hill and dale, 
And peep into each hollow. 

And bird, and beast, a? well as man, 
Adore the great Apollo. 

Aia, then puts off her weeds, 
And all her charms discloses. 

The hills are gay with honeysuckles, 
Field flowers and wild roses. 

The trees put on their summer garb. 
And merry birds are singing 

Amid their foliage — while all around 
The herbage green is springing. 

The place, it seems, now teems with life. 

And all is now in inotion ; 
The pifus pilgrims come forth now, 

'I'o show their true devotion. 

And lass and lover, arm in arm. 
Not minding bush or bramble ; 

Invited by Aia's charms. 

Come forth to lake a ramble. 



(315) 



SiG r.EAl'TIFUL FRANCES. 

They promenade in shady paths, 
Like gentle folks of fashion, 

The b.ilmy air and scen'ry round, 
Inspire the gentle passion. 

Xow liaving climbed the lofcy hill, 
Where all the sights delight them. 

The cosy nooks and mossy seat?. 
So pressingly invite them. 

IIow swiftly now the happy hours, 
On angel's wings fly o'er them ; 

The cares of life are all forgot, 
The future's bright before them. 

But the dewy eve is drawing nigh, 
The glowing clouds remind them 

'Tis time to turn their footsteps homeward, 
And leave such scenes behind them. 



BEAUTIFUL FRANCES. 



t^y^ 



^ll^HEX Frances was young she was sprightly and gay, 
*/%^J At all merrv-makmgs was foremost in play; 



'£_^j ■^'•^ "" 1.H.H ,-.111.1^11150 r.110 n^i^i.i^.oi^ lu play 
tf < She needed no powder, no rouge, and no puffing, 
Her beauty show'd forth without padding or stuff- 



ins:. 



So modest was she that she blushed like a rose. 
At her own loveliness, and numerous beaux 
She drew to her side by her magical eyes, 
As magnet draws steel or a candle draws flies. 



BEAUTIFUL FRANCES. 347 

At length self-esteem took root in her breast, 
And beaux were cast off in a freak or a jest; 
She fancied herself of all beauties the queen, 
As peacocks admire their blue, purple and green. 

But the course of the wind the weather-cock shows ; 
So the curl of her lip and the turn of her nose, 
Show'd plainly vain notions that stuck in her head ; 
She relish'd the flatt'ry with which she was fed. 

She talk'd of her virtue and never got through. 
She hated this thing and she hated that, too; 
Above all that she hated, she hated lewd women,. 
And never neglected to give them a trimming. 

And who was not lewd — in her estimation? 
She could not see virtue in high or low station ; 
Excepting herself, how few that were chaste! 
A model, indeed — for she ne'er wa? disgrac'd. 

lUit, oh, what a prude! her neighbors would say — 
What snares would she set, and what pranks would she 

play; 
Of her unseemly tricks 'twas a scandal to tell, 
The amours she had, oh, who could excel ? 

But the gist of the joke was the picture she drew 
Of the husband she wanted — no Gentile or Jew, 
No Christian or Turk — no man above ground 
Was ever so handsome, so rich, so renown'd. 

"Would some foreign prince but come with a carriage. 
To spirit her off to a Gretna Green marriage ! 
must such a flower so delicious and fair. 
Thus waste all its sweetness on the desert air! 



MS BEAUTIFUL PRANCES. 

But the chap that she wanted — the highest and best- 
Was naught but a myth in her fancy express'd ; 
Who was he — what was lie — where couUl he be — 
'I'lie husband so lovely, so wealthy as he? 

But the fates were against her, 'twas plain to be seen, 
For many a maiden had become a rich (lueen, 
And sway'd a bright sceptre on some happy throne, 
Whose beauty could not be compared with her own. 

lUit she had the good luck to tirul one at last, 
An outlandish fellow that ne'er was surpass'd 
For ugliness, awkwardness, want of good sense; 
And his poverty — oh I don't say, 'twas immense! 

And this was the prince she'd been waiting to wed. 
So long, that the hair had grown gray on her head; 
And the compliment was— that she didn't like much- 
" Well, how is your jn-ince — and can he talk Dutch?" 

ller pride is now hunibl'd — her beauty is lied — 
'Tis a pity, they say, but the truth must ba said ; 
Her palaces vanish'd like flashes of light, 
The castles she built, all fell from their height. 



a«\(^^i^fl^Sy^-i 



WHERE IS BUZZARD'S GLORY? 

A Church— So-Called. 



4-"^it 



«!^=w 



gAY, liulies, where is Buzzard's (Uory., 
.^, Do any of you know it ? 
j[ Or is it but a wizard's story, 
To draw the ninnies to it? 

We're told it is a J'aradise, 
O'er which the angels hover; 

A heav'nly place, a safe retreat, 
For maiden, lass and lover. 

" 0, yes," says Bill, " 'tis even so; 

W you're disposed to doubt it, 
I'll prove it by Saint Nicholas— 

He'll tell you all about it. 

"Yep, gentlemen, I've just been there, 
Sweet-meats are cheap and handy; 

The prettiest maids you ever saw. 
Are eating sugar-candy. 

"And men are there, with badges on, 

To designate some order ; 
With stars and spangles of pure gold. 

And trimmings round the border, 

" I tell you, 'tis a lovely place, 
And all good saints revere it ; 

But do not call it Jiuzzard's Clory, 
There are no buzurds near it. 



30 



(^■tJv 



•5oO A KKCKLKSS YOUTH. 

"Besides, 'lis not its proper name — 
Some wicked wiif; so nain'd it — 

l^nt who it was, was not loinul out, 
For cv'ry one discluinied it. 

"Its jiroper nanui is Cliestnul (irove^ 
And deciMit folks so call it; 

^fay (iod dcl"end it from all sinners,. 
And may no ill hefall i(." 



A RECKLESS YOUTH. 



)AKLING boy, he was his mother's child, 
^ Obedient, not imperious and wild ; 
It ^ Ilis parents ibj\dly lov'd and doted on him, 
And lavish'd their praises and gilts upon hin>, 

Hut Iheir indiilgfuei' had a bad elVect, 
lie lost his character and self-respect; 
He sought the worst and wildest company, 
And mixed with charaeters of low degrei'. 

He revell'd in excessive s[iorts and gaiues, 

llis wealth he squandcr'd on vain fops and danus, 

For money ne'er would slay with him, 'tis true. 

It seemed to burn his pockets through and through. 

Hale fellows all, with appetites like hounds. 
Which carrieil them beyond discretion's bounds; 
Those accompanied him and drank an I tlinetl. 
For .lohuny was so generous and kind. 



AN 01,1) MAID'H S()I,II,()f/IJV. 351 

The gayest belles, and beauties, rich hikI (iiir, 

His bounty juiJ liis company did sliurc, 

Felt greatly IioudtM with the favoi's siiowii tiiorri, 

And blusli'd like Nymplis if lie but sniileil upon tlicni. 

But ah ! this great extravagance at last 
<!ame to an end, for lie bad lived too fast; 
The wealth, the gold, his father had atnass'd, 
"Was blown away like chaff before the blast. 



AN OLD MAID'S SOLILOQUY. 



'M single yet — I'm single yet — 

gentlemen, what are you doing? 
Yes, lliougb T often sigh and fret, 
There's nobody comes a wooing. 

"I'm twenty-five, I do declare; 

I'm getting older ev'ry day ; 
I'd gladly wed, I vow and swear, 

I'd gladly sell myself away. 

"I've tried my best these last ten years. 
To captivate some fine young lad ; 

But ev'ry prospect disappears 

And leaves me comfortless and sad. 

"The beaux I've had have gone away. 
But why they went they did not tell ; 

r ne'er offended them, I say, 

I'>iit alway.s did 1 treat th(;m well. 



353 ALVICK TO J. S. R. 

*' Not married yet — not niarrleil yet — 
My griefs ami sorrows still accruing — 

For ev'ry beau niy ca}) I set, 
Yet nobody comes u wooing." 

HER CONDITION EX3ITE3 MY SYMPATHY IN HER BEHALF. 

Now, gentlemen, why don't you try ? 

Your baslil'ulness once throw aside; 
She swears by heaven she'll not deny; 

She'll make some man a lovely bride. 

She's got a house that's well fixed np. 
With furniture and pictures sleek ; 

Come, you beaux of matrimony sup, 
And blessedness immortal seek. 

For heaven's sake, this fair maid take. 

Let her no longer moan ; 
For what a pity, that one so pretty. 

Should tread life's path alone. 



ADVICE TO J. S. R. 

|B|IIY own accounts more strictly keep, 
^^ And have a duo rogarJ, 
\W! That no man catch thee luU'd asleep, 
In negligence's warJ. 

Thy debts and credits all set down. 

And casli expenses, too ; 
In country, village, or in town. 

Keep all those rules in view. 



ADVICE TO .1. S. R. 353 

Be frugal in tliy dealings all, 

He honest and be just; 
And though tliy wealth at first l)e small, 

This shall increase thy trust. 

f5uni up thy debts with certain guide, 

'J he balance keep in sight; 
And take care lest the left hand side, 

t^hould overweigh the right. 

•Observe these rules — thou wilt elude, 

IMany hard thumps indeed; 
For mankind are so basely rude. 

They'd tram[) thee down like weed. 

Self-interest, or love of pelf, 

In cv'ry place thou'lt find; 
Many a man t'enrich himself, 

Would leave thee far behind. 

Yes, many selfish men there are, 

Who would on thee impose; 
And wage with thee a constant war, 

Which would increase thy woes. 

Mankind, the vilest brutes alive. 

Like wild beasts in a den ; 
J low hard they pull and tug and strive, 

Against their fellow-men! 



^'^'^3 



30* 



NEW MARKET. 
For Jonrae. By Re<;ue3t. 



|EW Markot is u i^iirjidisi* — 
'Tis not a town o'orgrown ; 
"Pis l.'ir^io onouiih, and not tiH> lar^jo — 
Maoli bniKlini; siaiults aloiu\ 

Sho l\as two oluirohos, largo rtnil graml. 

And oaoh hjvs ijot a boll; 
Thivo stores, iiro likowiso iji tho pl.uw 

Uoj;idos. a lar^io hotel. 

A ploa^nnt i^laoo it is to livo, 

Vm not atVaivl to toll; 
Unt I livo just ont*!ido tho plaoo, 

Whoiv I oan hoar tho boll. 

Tho whivls of Time roll gontly on. 
All l'i\v from oloijs and cliains; 

Not rnniblinsj oVr tho Ov>bblosjtonos, 
As if thov'd eraok one's brain?. 



Tho hijih and low aro anni at chuix'h. 

All woi-shiping one iiod ; 
And all oan sinjj tho samo goovi song- 

l»ut this is nothin;,; odd. 



VSM) 



'nil'; 'I A I i,<tit A M> iii:i Mi'on.sK. 

For Miimiiinii liiiH no Hiiliji'tilH Ikmc, 
'I'liiit l)()W I lie kiK'c to liiiii; 

Or IIiiiimI llicif iKMrkK inlo IIki yoke, 
'I'd Iki led l»y (iv'ry whim. 

So Icl, il, !)<■ I. •Lull tli<! lolk.^ 

Ito on II fiiir rijniilil y ; 
'l'li<!ni'n nol.iiiii;^ nion- l,o l)(! dcHpinM, 

Tluin Hl.iir Hlii(;k-ii|i foriMiilil.y. 



'M>r> 



TIIK TAILOU AND IIIC CPOUSE. 



mXA 'I'A I ''*^l( i"><l IiIh HpOIIHC, 
I)w<'ll. ill 11 liU.ln lioiiHc, 
Ijovingly and pcaccriilly lojM-tlicr ; 
\ A'i it; mill, imil, or hiiow, 
'i'lioy would cnl, (i(, and H<iw, 
UogurdlcHH of l,li(! hLoiiiih or Mio w»'iitlicr. 

|jik») Uvo yoiin^ dov<'H (.licy coo'd, 
And aliar'd cacii otlicr'H food, 

()ii<! ciiHliioiiM find ilM^y had Ixd.wccii lli'iii, 
Oni; lil-l,l<; hcd ho iical, 
In which Lhcy (Jrcam'd no Hwocf, 

(Jih; <(iiilt, oik; covcrh;!, I.o Moreen (hfiii. 

Sho had a chcci fill air, 

tSho wiiH hoUi HW<!';t and fair, 
And iirolty an a ithoLo;.^ra|)li, 

And it niUHl hu Huid, 

Thai, hIio wan wcdi-hrcd, 
And r;onld iniik<; the noiircHt, (diiirl t.o lan^li. 



356 THE TAILOR AND HIS SPOUSE. 

And friends and neighbors thought, 

Their's was a happy lot, 
A model of conjugal bliss; 

And John declar'd he'd woo, 

And he would marry, too, 
If sure to get a wife like this. 

But oh, she went astray, 

The tempter came, one day. 
And with his wiles bewitched young Mary; 

He told her she was pretty, 

Intelligent and witty, 
And just as lovely as a fairy. 

" 'Tis a pity," he said, 

" That you are so ill-wed, 
To one who knows not how to love you ; 

You ought to be the wife 

Of one in higher life, 
Some prince, who is more worthy of yon." 

Such blandishments and smiles, 
And such bewitching wiles, 

Arous'd her vanity and pride; 
8he thought it no disgrace, 
Nor did she hide her face, 

To lay her virtue and fidelity aside. 

She and her paramour. 

Went on a pleasure tour, 
For she adored the silly dandy; 

And being further bent. 

They on a voyage went, 
To the happy land of sugar-candy. 



THE DYING MAIDEN. 357 

Now when the fact was known, 

This silly bird had flown, 
Tne tailor could do naught but mourn ; 

He fretted night and day, 

As if he'd wear himself away, 
And hop'd his bird would soon return. 

He might have known at first, 

He might have fear'd the worst. 
When marrying such a sprite, 

That some young fellow, gay, 

Would spirit her away, 
And leave him thus, a lonely wight. 

You honest farmers hear, 

You tradesmen far and near, 
If you have got a pretty wife, beware, 

Lest some young fellow gay, 

Should spirit her away. 
And leave the children in vour care. 



THE DYING MAIDEN. 



^^ROSTRATE upon a bed of sickness long — 
<^p, And rack'd with pains and loss of sleep, 
fp From day to day, less eloquent her tongue 
Became — her eyes grew pale and deep. 

What visions haunted her disorder'd brain. 
Must ne'er to mortal man be known ; 

She seldom spoke, and never smil'd again, 
But often wept when left alone. 



358 WISHING FOR A QUIET RETREAT. 

By the upturning of Ikt eyes, I saw, 

That lier departure soon must come; 
The scenes of earth no more her thoughts coukl draw, 

They centr'd in her final home. 



WISHING FOR A QUIET RETREAT. 

WOULD that hand divine direct me to some spot, 

fSome calm retreat where I might rear my cot, 
Just far enough remov'd from care and strife, 
Where I might spend the remnant of my life. 

Some fragrant gi-otto in some sylvan grove, 

Where pleasures tempt the footsteps oft to rove, 

To breathe the morning breeze or hear the mountain 

rill, 
Or meditate on scenes more solemn still. 

Yon distant mountain of a hazy hue, 

That's scarce distinguish'd from the clouds in view. 

Is more inviting to the humble heart, 

Than yon great city's noblest works of art. 

Let those who love the bustling world's airay. 
Their pomp and pride and vanity display; 
But oh — their feasting and their revelry, 
Have no peculiar charms for me. 



^-^^ofl^J^^ 



ON LIFE. 350' 

COME BACK, YE HAPPY DAYS. 



OME back, come back, ye happy days, 



ii 

. ^^. When we chas'd butterflies at home ; 
tf When o'er the fields and meadows green, 

Light-hearted, merry-hearted did we roam. 

Come back, come back, ye sunny days. 
When we a seeking bird's nests went; 

We search'd each hedge, each Jlow'ry dale; 
Thus happily our lime was spent. 

Come back, come back, ye joyful days, 
A\'e angl'd much for silv'ry trout; 

We paddl'd in the rippling brook. 
Or sported on the brink about. 



ON LIFE. 



§i^IFE is a book of strange events, 
^^f Of joys and sorrows made; 
If Each chapter is a changeful day, 
]\[ade up of light and shade. 

Each day some cup of pleasure brings, 
To slake the thirsty mind; 

15ut not unmixed with bitter dregs, 
For grief and care we find. 

Thus ev'ry day brings forth seme good. 

Each day extorts a sigh ; 
And yet there is no day so dark. 

But hope shines in the sky. 



ON DEATH. 

^1^11 I one by one oiu' friends lU'iai-t, 
«^^ AVhile we reinain bohiml to mourn; 
'^tj But wliy so vainly i)Uigiie the heart ? 
We know they never can return. 

How vain it is to wish them back, 
In tliis unhappy world of (urs; 

We, last are follo\vins:j in thfir track, 
Deatli in time all llosh lUvours. 

Yes, soon we all must follow them, 

The joys of that brii;ht world to share, 

Where each shall wear a diadi lu, 

With jewels studded rich an 1 rare. 



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